


Heels turned black

by the_Orange_one



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Developing Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Friends to fwb to lovers, M/M, Somnophilia, basically we clippin thru max's entire RB career like its a poorly rendered video game, buckle up bitches, lol and by that i just mean 'failure to DTR for years on end', there's a little bit of blood too but dont worry the girls are not fightingg, young white millionaires being dumb and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25867402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Orange_one/pseuds/the_Orange_one
Summary: A story about race wins, hookups, reliability issues, biting, birthdays, alcohol, chocolate, and how not to ask your ex teammate to be your boyfriend.(or: Let's All Relive 2016-2019 Together)
Relationships: Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen
Comments: 83
Kudos: 219





	1. 2016: He said to me, 'Welcome'

**Author's Note:**

> over the course of this summer I've watched every single race of the turbo hybrid era *hangs my head in shame* I played myself like ferrari's strategy on a sunday. anyway that's like 250 hours of racing, and to be honest with you I didn't retain like 70% of it! pray for me!
> 
> I'm posting unlocked bc i simply do not give a fuck but if you know anyone in this fic irl do us all a favor and smash that back button pls
> 
> This fic will cover a year per chapter :) welcome to the clown show
> 
> title from [here](https://genius.com/Yeah-yeah-yeahs-hysteric-lyrics)
> 
>  **EDIT 3/5/21:** minor spelling/wording/formatting edits, added a header <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from [here](https://hyggles.tumblr.com/post/171931304954/i-love-methodical-dry-unemotional-b%C3%A4ckstr%C3%B6m-as)

\---

Daniel meets Max in Austria in the winter of 2015. Well, Daniel supposes they’ve technically met before, but they exchange words for the first time in 2015.

Daniel doesn’t know much about the new kids, just that they’ve both got impressive racing pedigrees, Carlos’ hair is Disney prince levels of ridiculous, and Max has the most impressive resting bitch face Daniel has ever seen.

Max is also a child, and his father is with him pretty much wherever he goes. The guy’s an asshole, so Daniel keeps his distance except when he’s required to interact with the Toro Rosso boys.

In 2016, they spend another frigid winter together in the Alps, him and Dany and Max and Carlos. Daniel jokes about the band being back together, and is pleased when he can still make them laugh without having to relearn each other all over again. It’s a good feeling, and there’s a hopeful undercurrent running through every interaction with the brass that has them giggling through their PR instead of rolling their eyes.

Daniel walks out of an interview one day to find Carlos and Max squabbling about their age difference in the atrium. It’s a familiar sight, both boys endlessly needling each other and laughing loudly in rooms they’re not supposed to.

He walks over to them and taps Carlos on the head with his empty water bottle.

“Hey,” Carlos says, frowning. Max laughs at him. “Shut up. You’re like, twelve.”

Max’s eyes go wide. “I’m nearly an adult,” he squawks. “Who scored more points last year, huh?”

Carlos rolls his eyes. “Only because I retired from like half the races.”

“Help me out here,” Max turns to Daniel suddenly. “He thinks he’s so mature but he can’t even own up to his mistakes—”

Carlos starts ticking him and they almost fall off the couch grabbing at each others’ wrists.

Daniel grins and pours himself onto an armchair across from them, flipping his water bottle in his hands. He’s still got one more meeting before lunch but it’s not for another twenty minutes.

“Nah, you’re not a rookie anymore, but you’re still a baby.”

Max sticks his tongue out at him, proving his point, and he doesn’t see much of Max for the next few months, spending most of his time with his trainer, and on occasion working out or hanging out with Dany once they’re in the swing of things.

Max outscores Carlos again in the opening four races of the season like he’s trying to prove a point and then, just like that, they’re teammates.

After Barcelona—so many firsts; Max’s first podium, Max’s first win, Max’s first race as Daniel’s teammate—Daniel makes sure to drag Max out to celebrate very intentionally. He wants to see how quickly he can get Max wasted.

Max giggles at the idea of a vodka Red Bull and Daniel can taste the victory already. He's off to a strong start, mixing that much sugar with that much hard alcohol, and Daniel can't wait to hold his hair back—hold his hat?—when Max hits his ceiling for tolerance. He does a vodka shot in solidarity then orders Max the sugariest cocktail he can think of and presses it into his hand.

"How do you feel?" he shouts.

Max just laughs, big and wide and overjoyed and so fucking young, and yeah. Pretty much.

Daniel does another shot and then someone asks him to dance and he loses track of Max for a while.

By the time he finds him again, someone’s done his job for him, because Max is flushed, red in the face, and his wrists are loose when he waves to get his attention across the bar.

“Hey,” Daniel says. “Congrats, mate.”

Max’s grin splits his face. “Thanks!”

Max's eyes are sunken. This boy, this chosen one, whom he’s forbidden to befriend, who has done in a day what many spend years chasing, and who trusts Daniel for some terribly misguided reason because all Daniel can think is how to get under his skin. How to beat him.

He makes up his mind to stop thinking about Max like that.

Max is still wrong to trust him, though, because he takes the next drink that Daniel buys him without a second glance, and once he takes a sip he turns back to look at Daniel like he’s betrayed his whole family.

“What the fuck is that?”

Daniel laughs in his face and takes the terrible concoction back and abandons it on the bar. He’s certainly not drinking it.

“It’s so bitter!” Max complains.

“Let me make it up to you?” Daniel asks, cheeky.

Max rolls his eyes but accepts easily.

And there’s that taste again. Victory.

Daniel is so angry after Monaco.

He can barely bring himself to be civil with anyone. Max, bless him, tries to console him before he’s ready to hear it and he brushes him off a little more harshly than he intends to. After Max had crashed out himself, no less.

They drink together on someone’s yacht—Jenson’s, maybe? Lewis had tried to get a bunch of them to join him and Justin Bieber but he’d begged off and Lewis didn’t push him—and Daniel loses track of time. He’s tired more than anything by this point. Max finds him again feeling sorry for himself in a room belowdecks and they walk home together. Misery loves company and all that.

Daniel invites him in for a nightcap and they end up watching the sunrise together out on his balcony.

They’ve been silent for upwards of ten minutes and Max might honestly be fully asleep when Daniel finally sighs and mutters, “It’s so beautiful here.”

Max lifts his head, awake after all, and they both squint out against the glare on the water, jasper orange and glassy the way it only is right at dawn.

“I shouldn’t- I take this for granted way too often.”

There’s something so sacrosanct and absurd about pulling an all-nighter partying after an F1 race yet ending up in such a peaceful place by morning, and combined with the disappointment of yesterday’s race he’s feeling a little manic. He’s letting his words skip ahead of his thought process, spitting out ideas while they’re still half formed.

It would be okay if Max wasn't listening, but clearly he is. He’s turned his head and opened his eyes, chin resting on his knees where he’s tucked his feet up onto the chair, arms wrapped around himself to ward off the chill that’s set in as they’ve sobered up.

Max starts to speak then clears his throat and starts again. “You’re one of the most sensible people I’ve ever met,” he says.

Daniel looks back at him, his own glass of lukewarm schnapps still dangling from his fingers just so he has something to do with his hands, and he can’t read anything into the inflection of Max’s voice. He switches the tumbler back to his left hand again. He tries to recover the through line of their conversation, but can’t make the pieces fit together in his head. Maybe it’s because he’s crashed from his adrenaline high and sleep deprived and hungover to the point of deliriousness, or maybe Max really is that inscrutable.

“You’re right, it’s beautiful,” Max says after a pause.

Once the sun gets high enough that Monte Carlo starts to look like Monte Carlo again, they head inside and Daniel sets the auto start on the coffee maker while Max sets an alarm for four or five hours later. Max makes for the couch but Daniel grabs him by the arm and bodily steers him into the bedroom. Once they’re under the blanket and the curtains are drawn as tight as they’ll go, Daniel whispers, “Sorry about your race.”

Max tucks his face in tighter to the back of Daniel’s neck. Daniel’s been a dick for pretty much the last twelve hours straight but Max is still here, holding him, in his bed, and Daniel is so, so grateful to have him. He’s about to say so, but he falls asleep before he can find the words.

\---

Max doesn’t buy Daniel’s happy-go-lucky facade for one second.

At first he just doesn’t believe anyone could be that happy all the time, but the more he spends time with Daniel the more he thinks it might truly be genuine. But there’s a contradiction between the way he’s “fine” after a mechanical DNF and the speed with which he asserts that he’s hungry for a world championship that screams to Max that one of these things is a lie.

The next time he watches Daniel do media, he sees him bare his teeth for the cameras and he knows it’s not a smile.

_Okay_ , Max thinks. _Daniel’s got a bit of a lion in him, too. He just calls it something different_.

After that, Max watches Daniel more and more often. More often than he should, maybe, because by the time he realizes he’s got a crush on him, it’s well and truly too late to stop.

Max waits, lets Daniel invite him over and weighs the decision in his mind, whether he should say anything. Whether it might ruin him. It’s terrifying, but he waits long enough that he gets impatient, and eventually his trust in Daniel outweighs his fear. He decides to want this. He decides he wants him.

The first time Max kisses Daniel, they’re in Monaco and Daniel’s got his infuriating chill lofi beats playlist going in the background.

When Max pulls away the first thing Daniel says to him is, “Wow. You’ve thought this through.”

And he has. He’s thought about this so many times.

Max nods, then presses Daniel’s back against the railing of the balcony and kisses him again.

Daniel plants his feet and lets him.

\---

In Budapest, Daniel realizes that it’s been a year since Jules passed, and his mortality weighs on him more than it normally does for the whole week. If this is what his poor mother feels every time she watches him race, no wonder she’s got gray hair.

Several people on the team notice that he’s a little more distracted than usual, but no one gives him any grief about it, which he’s thankful for.

In the middle of one of his zoned out spells, he hears Max laughing with his mechanics over on the other side of the motorhome, and something crooked hits him in the chest.

For a split second, Jules and Max blur together in his mind and he’s not sure what his face is doing right now, but he’s sure it’s frightening. He probably looks like he’s having a fit.

Jules was so young, past tense, and Max is so young, present tense. Other than that, they have very little in common. It doesn’t stop him from thinking about it.

Later, they have press duty together and every time Max serves up another rote answer to a question he’s already answered at every race so far this year, Daniel has to concentrate on taking measured breaths through his nose.

_Don’t make him grow up too fast_ , he thinks in the direction of the reporters. _Stop thinking about all the things he’s going to become and look at what he is. Just look at him go_.

It’s Max who eventually pulls him out of it, though. He’s trying to escape from his personal trainer, something which Daniel is starting to understand is normal for Max, and corrals Daniel into tossing a ball around behind the paddock in the parking lot.

Another thing Daniel is coming to understand about Max is that he always gets what he wants. Half the time it grates on Daniel’s nerves and half the time he’s amused by it.

It shows in the way he carries himself, even now at eighteen. The arrogance of a lion. The boy king of the paddock.

It really hits home in Spa, seas of orange everywhere they go.

Daniel meets Max’s mother for the first time and begins to suspect that she’s the one person in the world Max won’t argue with. Victoria is there, too, and Daniel likes her immediately. She’s a karting racer, and she’s got a wicked sense of humor and can’t stop making fun of Max.

Sophie smiles secretively at Daniel and pulls a package out of her purse.

“Max’s favorite,” she says, conspiratory. It’s a huge block of chocolate, and Daniel’s eyes go wide. “Since he’s distracted at the moment, I trust you can hand it off to him yourself?” Sophie continues.

She winks at him and Daniel laughs out loud. Max and his mother are so alike, it’s delightful.

“Mama!” Max exclaims, cottoning on to what’s happening behind his back while he and Victoria have been gossiping in the corner of his drivers’ room. “That’s mine! Gimme,” he directs to Daniel.

“Now, now, Max,” Daniel tsks. “Sharing is caring.” He breaks a piece off the corner. “Victoria?” he offers, and she graciously accepts.

Everyone takes a piece and then Daniel finally hands it over to Max, who snatches it out of his hands and wraps it up to put it away.

Daniel laughs again and Max gives him the stink eye.

“It’s special. For later,” he says.

Daniel nods earnestly, and leaves them to finish catching up as a family.

There’s a huge rumbling thunderstorm the night between qualifying and race day in Singapore. The heaviest part lasts only about half an hour, but what a spectacular half hour show. It makes Daniel feel small, makes him feel just how small the city itself is, this city of five and a half million, compared to the massive towers of clouds that make up the storm.

Max’s strategy implodes on itself during the race, and Daniel doesn’t have to be told specifics by anyone in the garage after his own finish, he can read it in Max’s face. There’s a quiet anger there, though he’s taken care to hide it. If Daniel didn’t know any better, he’d say Max was genuinely being understanding about the whole thing, but as it is, he does know better. He knows Max better.

Daniel was going to spend the evening celebrating with a couple of the guys from his side of the garage, but he snags Max once they reach their hotel, and asks him to come by his room after he’s showered. Max turns up looking damp and confused, and Daniel grins at him while offering a shot of vodka from the mini bar. Max takes it but it doesn’t smooth out the wrinkle in his forehead.

“Go for a walk with me,” Daniel implores.

Max raises an eyebrow but agrees easily enough. It’s a thing with them, Max pretending he doesn’t approve of Daniel’s spontaneity but tolerating him anyways without fail.

They wander inland a ways and find the park that Daniel knows is historically significant, in some way or another. Max seems to have settled a bit as they walked, and they whisper things to each other as they pass signposts and old architecture within the park.

There’s an archaeological dig hidden among the trees, and Daniel bumps Max’s arm. “Check it out, that looks pretty cool.” He’s rewarded when Max immediately goes to read the informative plaque out front.

“There are ancient kings buried here,” Max says reverentially.

Daniel hums in agreement but the old cannon they pass on the way back out is much more exciting to him.

They make it back to the hotel without anyone recognizing them but Daniel can’t shake the way Max has become his priority. It’s not his goddamn job, but here he is anyway.

Daniel sleeps like the dead but he dreams for the first time he can remember in a long time. He can’t remember them when he wakes up but he’s rattled nonetheless.

The first time they hook up, Max is barely nineteen.

They finish 1-2 in Malaysia and it’s spectacular. They’re both over the moon, and Daniel is basking in it from the moment he crosses the line.

He lets Max put his hands all over him during the post race press conference and from there he knows how this is going to end. Max has been watching him since the start of the season. Daniel’s felt his gaze enough times to know what it feels like, and he can taste the weight of it the whole flight to Japan. Whenever they end up near each other his eyes are dark and quiet, far too steady for the circumstances.

They’re both drunk from the time they step on the podium for the next thirty hours straight. It’s at the end of this bender that they end up in a hotel, they’ve each done about four body shots off of each other, and Daniel’s been accidentally stumbling into Max every chance he gets. He’s exhausted from the race and the overnight travel, and even if he wanted to say no, he’s not sure he’d be able to. Max’s attention is intoxicating enough all on its own.

When they finally get to a room with a bed their kisses are all tongue and a little bit of teeth from the whiskey and the overexcitement. Max’s tongue tastes suspiciously sugary, like he’d snuck in that vodka Red Bull he’d been joking about, and even though Daniel thinks they’re disgusting he can’t get enough.

Daniel’s louder than he tries to be, and knocks them over onto the bed he’s so dizzy, and he can’t stop talking. Max is intense, breathing really heavily, and after a couple minutes Daniel starts to suspect it’s because he’s on the verge of falling asleep. He gets it, he’s almost there himself.

He leans up to catch Max’s mouth again and the next thing he knows he’s waking up to sunlight in his eyes.

His arm is stuck to Max’s side through his shirt, and his hair feels absolutely disgusting. He can’t quite blink the sleep out of his eyes, and he’s at the stage of his hangover where he knows he won’t be able to get back to sleep. He pulls the duvet up over the both of them, shivering in his damp vest and cursing the AC unit, and Max snores on.

Daniel loses a bit more time trying to take stock of his body, then Max begins to stir so he pokes him in the side and then wraps a leg around him when he tries to squirm away.

“Do you feel as shitty as I do right now?” he asks Max, trying to move as little as possible.

“Sleep,” Max says, so they do.

\---

They mess around doing PR for a couple of days in Tokyo, and it seems like no time at all before it’s Saturday night again, and there’s a heavy rainstorm that’s been rolling in all afternoon. From Daniel’s hotel room in Suzuka, Max and Daniel and Michael listen to the rain and the wind whip against the windows.

For a good fifteen minutes there’s even some lightning, and Max plants himself on top of the AC unit under the window to watch while Daniel and Michael sprawl on the bed watching Australian football highlights on Michael’s phone.

Max likes Michael—even though he’s in Michael’s phone as “little lion man”—but he and Daniel haven’t had a moment alone all week and he knows they’ve both been waiting to get a chance to talk about what happened on Monday.

Soon after the rain quiets down, Daniel stretches and gets up to grab his water bottle from the TV stand.

“Alright, Ilsa, as much as you know I love your company, I need to talk to Max, here,” he says to Michael, chucking his phone charger at him.

Michael snorts but pulls his shoes back on and follows Daniel to the door. “Yeah, yeah, make sure you get your beauty sleep, you crazy kids,” he joshes.

“Miss you already, dearest,” Daniel singsongs, all but pushing Michael out of the room.

“Fuck off, sweetcheeks.”

Daniel flips the deadbolt and turns back to Max, on his side on the bed flipping his phone in his hands.

“I guess we should talk?” Max says, and hates the way his voice cracks halfway through.

Daniel sighs heavily and comes over to lie next to Max, facing the ceiling. “I guess,” he says. He turns his head to face Max. “I had fun, last weekend,” he says with a smile.

Max smooths down the scratchy duvet under his fingernails. “Me too,” he agrees.

“Good,” Daniel chuckles. “Otherwise this’d probably be pretty awkward.”

“I’d do it again,” Max offers, meeting Daniel’s eyes, which crease into a genuine display of emotion.

“Yeah,” Daniel agrees. “Yeah, me too. Maybe next time I won’t drink so much whiskey beforehand.”

Max laughs softly at him. “Maybe not.”

“I think this could be good,” Daniel continues. “Easy, you know?”

Max nods.

“Cool. Maybe not tonight, though. I do want to get some sleep.”

Max agrees easily and they both sit up. Daniel to get ready for bed, and Max to head back across the hall. He feels like he’s lacking some closure, like maybe they should’ve kissed again or something.

Not for the first time, Max admires how Daniel never has to filter his thoughts, how he always seems to say whatever he wants. How he can speak his desires out into the world without consequence. Max watches the muscles of his throat, his grip around a water bottle, and his own thoughts take their toll.

\---

After his DNF in Austin, Max just seems depressed. Daniel doesn’t know what to do with that. He’s gotten practiced at dealing with Max when he’s angry, or when they’re both flying high, but this is new, and Daniel hates it. Apathy is a terrible look on Max.

The podiums next to Nico and Lewis are getting more and more awkward, and he’s busy being annoyed at having to be the mediator once again when he finds Max waiting for him outside his motorhome.

“You look like a man in dire need of brisket,” Daniel says as Max follows him into his room without asking.

Max groans, flopping on the awful bed in the corner while Daniel strips off his race gear. “I do,” he says emphatically. “I am.”

Daniel throws his sweaty top at Max and Max makes a satisfyingly disgusted noise when it hits him in the face. “Michael and I are going out for dinner,” Daniel says. “If you stop moaning maybe I’ll let you come with us.”

“Are you gonna shave before we go out?” Max snipes back.

Daniel considers himself in the mirror on the closet door. He thinks about saying no just to fuck with Max, but he really probably should. The horseshoe moustache isn’t his best look.

Michael comes back from the garage to find Daniel mid-shave and Max providing increasingly unhelpful commentary from his repose on the bed.

“Max, stop pretending you know anything about beard maintenance,” says Michael, sweeping all of the dirty laundry off of the floor and into the laundry bag, “and Daniel, no matter what you do with those clippers it won’t be enough to cover up your ugly mug.”

“Fuck right off,” Daniel says, a reflex.

“Reservation’s in thirty minutes, let’s move it along, darlings. Natalie’s waiting in the van.”

Max snorts, Daniel speeds through the rest of his trim, and two hours later they’re all in Daniel’s room in a food coma, unable to move and bemoaning the evil temptations of Texas barbeque.

“As the adult to blame in this situation, we are never allowed to do this to ourselves ever again,” Michael says.

Daniel is taking shallow breaths, but he manages to defend his food baby, which he does not regret one bit. “As an honorary Texan,” both Michael and Max boo him here, “get fucked.”

Max collapses into giggles and Michael kicks Daniel in the shin. “If he yaks on the carpet, I’m not sharing my room with you.”

Daniel kicks him back, then whacks Max in the arm. “Don’t puke,” he instructs, and Max continues to make dying whale noises until Daniel throws them both out of his room so he can get some peace and quiet.

Mexico was pretty disappointing for them both, but Brazil is a blast and a half. The track is so wet he can’t see the ground about seventy percent of the time, and when the race is finally over his blood is singing despite the red flags and his P-8 finish.

All anyone’s talking about after the race is Max’s performance, and even though Daniel hadn’t seen much of it, he gets it. What’s not to be impressed by, with Max?

They haven’t actually kissed since Japan, and Daniel’s not quite sure where that leaves them. He invites Max over before their flight anyway.

“Heard you blew ‘em all away out there,” Daniel says. He’s just stepped out of the shower and it looks like Max must have as well, since his hair is practically dripping on the carpet.

Max flushes and looks down. “Yeah, well. Got a bit lucky, I guess. With the rain.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Daniel says, grinning, and tips his chin back up to look him in the eye. “Thirteen overtakes in sixteen laps. Just got lucky.”

“Right,” Max says breathily, and leans forward to kiss him.

It’s a really, really good kiss. Daniel doesn’t want to get too ahead of himself, but he thinks they might be getting better at this. When they pull back they’re both giggling a little for no reason, giddy from the adrenaline of a long race. As soon as Daniel catches his breath, he’s back on him, holding Max’s face between his hands, Max’s cheeks red, red, red. Literally wet behind the ears.

“You’re fucking insane, mate,” Daniel says. He’s grinning from ear to ear, but Max is practically glowing.

“Kiss me again,” Max says, and Daniel does.

The week after Abu Dhabi is somehow the busiest of the year. Daniel and Max stick around for a few days to do a tire test for Pirelli and then fly back to the UK to spend a day in the factory. The very next day is the prize giving in Vienna, and Daniel takes great pleasure in making fun of Max for how cute he looks in his tux.

Daniel has a moment during the ceremony just before he’s called up to receive the third place trophy and just after he’d accidentally flirted with Vivian Rosberg, where the success of the season really sinks in. When he does stand to accept the award, doing up the button on his jacket with practiced movements, he does so with so much pride his chest feels tight.

Leaving the gala he feels hungry. He feels ready for 2017.

He and Max don’t fly back to Monaco together, but they do run into each other several times in the two days it takes Daniel to pack up the things he needs to bring with him back to Perth.

Daniel’s schedule is completely booked for the next two weeks, and by the time he’s back at his parents’ ranch getting ready for Christmas, he’s ready for a well earned break.

He spends a week leading up to New Year’s with his phone locked in a drawer in his kitchen and doesn’t wash his hair more than once a week.

He gains about ten pounds eating his parents’ cooking and Michael makes him work it all back off.

Under the hot summer sun he feels his body recharge and his mind inevitably follows suit, slowly dissolving back into the brown-skinned, clear-eyed boy in the pictures on his parents’ walls.

The sun beats down and he turns his face up, climbs up the trail, lifts himself up out of his hollow hold, always looking forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos/comments would make my day!  
> i've already written all 5 chapters so they should be uploaded ~once a day  
> get excited the next few chapters only get longer from here
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](https://shoeydaniel.tumblr.com)


	2. 2017: Maybe I'll go, Maybe I'll stay (I'd like to go to St. Tropez)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIKE two chapters in one day  
> enjoy!
> 
> chapter title from [here](https://genius.com/J-cole-st-tropez-lyrics)

Max tries to date a girl over winter break. 

She’s a friend of Victoria’s, living with a roommate just outside Monaco. She’s pretty and funny and they both have a lot of free time. It’s fun, and he likes Dilara. He even intends to keep going steady once the season begins until he starts thinking about the logistics of inviting her to race weekends and planning their schedules around one another, and he realizes he’d just be leading her on.

He asks her over one morning in March to break up with her, and he can’t read her face well enough to tell if she saw it coming or not.

He offers her a beer and she says yes.

“I knew if I waited, it would have hurt you more,” he says, and doesn’t blame her when she doesn’t really have anything to say in return.

She glances down at her phone.

“I’ll call you an Uber?” he offers tiredly.

“Thanks,” says Dilara, and starts walking around the apartment picking up the things she’d had at his place for the last few months.

By the time the Uber arrives, he’s standing awkwardly in his kitchen trying to pretend he doesn’t feel like a terrible person but knowing he’s doing the right thing.

Dilara leaves her empty beer on the table and grabs the rest of the six pack to take with her. Max doesn’t stop her.

“I’ll see you around,” she says at the door.

“Yep. See you,” Max says, and once she’s off he groans loudly and collapses on the couch, folding his arms around himself. He feels like shit.

“ _I just broke up with my girlfriend and she took all my alcohol_ ”, he texts Daniel. “ _come over?_ ”

\---

Max has a bit of a shit Saturday in China, unable to make it out of Q1, and he spends all day in his driver’s room avoiding people. Daniel tries to get him to go out for lunch but all he gets is a dejected “No, thanks” through the door.

It rains Sunday morning, and Daniel is excited. It’s still early enough in the season that each weekend feels like a new opportunity, and he always appreciates a good wet race simply because he likes a challenge. 

Water on the track makes it feel like anything can happen, but Max is almost a different creature in the rain. Daniel is almost as excited to see him in his element as he is jazzed up for his own race. 

When Daniel pits for tires the first time behind the safety car, he catches a flash of a red-yellow nose in his mirrors and it sends a little thrill through him. 

Making up thirteen places in five laps, who does that? 

It gets him a little hot. Although, to be fair, many of the things Max does have been getting him hot more and more lately. Daniel doesn’t think he’s suddenly developed a sexual attraction to race car driving—he’s pretty sure he’d know about that by now—it’s just Max’s driving that does it for him. 

It’s just because it’s Max. 

He closes his eyes for a split second in the pit lane to shake himself out of it. It’s been years since he was distracted like this during a race. It leaves him shaken and struggling to snap back into his racing mode once the restart occurs.

Of course then Max overtakes him in a stupidly obvious spot several laps later and the quick familiar flash of anger that comes along with that helps.

Max takes his first podium of the year and then crashes out the next race in Bahrain, through no fault of his own. His brakes fail, overheated, and he’s left staring down the last ninety minutes of the race from backstage. Daniel finishes P-5, and Max leaves the track before Daniel makes it back to the hospitality unit.

They swap races, essentially, in Sochi. Daniel’s brakes fail before the first set of pit stops and he watches Max’s race from the garage. Max finishes an easy P-5, and Daniel nods at him as Max heads back to his room to change.

It’s a frustrating start to the season, but he keeps his head down, and does what he can to keep his spirits up.

\---

“Max?” Daniel asks.

It’s a slow Friday in Spain, and usually if there’s nothing going on in the evenings they’ll watch whatever sport is on TV. There’s football on now, but Max is zoned out and he knows Daniel can tell.

“You okay?”

Max takes a deep breath and sighs, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I miss my mom,” he says, and it makes him feel stupid so he hides his face in his arms.

Daniel just sits next to him on the bed and curls up in a similar position. “Me, too,” he says quietly, and lays a hand on Max’s ankle. “Can I do anything?”

Max shakes his head.

“Okay,” Daniel says.

They sit there for a while with the TV on mute listening to the AC kicking on and off every couple degrees while Max counts his breaths. Eventually, Daniel stands up stiffly and stretches.

“I’m gonna jump in the shower,” he says. “You should call your mom.”

Max still feels like an idiot, and he has to clear his throat before he speaks. “Okay,” he says. He hesitates. He wants to say thank you, but he’s feeling a little too exposed already. “Dinner after?” is what he ends up saying.

“Sounds perfect,” Daniel says, smiling at him as he disappears into the bathroom with Max’s bathrobe and Max’s sweatpants and Max’s favorite t-shirt. Max smiles, too and reaches for his phone, flipping it over in his hands. 

It’s not the same over the phone. When he says he misses his mom, what he really means is he misses being little, he misses relying on her, being held by his mother and never having to leave his neighborhood. He misses needling Victoria and pretending to sleep so his parents would have to carry him to bed. He misses their old house. He misses his mom.

He wonders if Daniel felt this way, too, when he was younger. If he still feels like this sometimes.

Daniel’s right, he should really call her.

Max hears the shower start and searches up his mom’s number on his phone.

“Hej, lieveling. Is alles goed?” 

_Is everything okay?_ Max doesn’t have an answer to that.

_Hi mom._

_Can you pick me up? Dad and I had an argument and he kicked me out of the car._

_Hi mom, is it okay if I come home? Just for this weekend?_

_Mom, I don’t know if I want to keep doing this if I never see you anymore._

_I hate karting, I miss you guys._

_I miss you_. 

“Hej, mam. Ja, ik ben okay.”

_Yeah, I’m okay._

\---

Ironically, they spend less time together during the weekend in Monaco than they have at any other race weekend. 

Thursday night they spend together on a company boat, Max lounging on the back as they putter out of the harbor and Daniel is pressed into doing a Facebook Live. It’s chilly out on the water outside the bubble of light from the city, despite the lack of a breeze, and once civil twilight sets in Daniel slides down in his seat next to Max so their arms are pressed together. Max hadn’t brought a windbreaker, but he always seems to run a little bit hotter than Daniel anyway.

“Do you like a cuddle? The people need to know,” Daniel asks Max, angling the phone camera towards him.

Max uses his entire body to roll his eyes. It’s pretty impressive actually.

Daniel just laughs at him. “Not into spooning, then?”

“Nah,” Max says. “It’s too sweaty, isn’t it?” His words are joking but his eyes are gentle, and Daniel has to pull himself back together, rambling about the boats in the harbor rather than asking Max any more questions.

_But you held me_ , Daniel thinks desperately.

They walk back to the apartment together and part ways in the elevator. Daniel doesn’t expect he’ll see much of Max for the rest of the weekend except for in the hall between their rooms at the energy station.

Max’s temper does flare up quicker and more easily than Daniel’s, but let it not be said that Max doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone.

Whenever he knows he needs to cool off he’ll literally just remove himself from the room, put some physical distance between himself and whatever he’s angry at. 

Daniel doesn’t see him after the race in Monaco, and he guesses from the frosty atmosphere of his solo post-race debrief that Max has taken one of his little strolls. Christian seems to find it annoying, but privately Daniel thinks it’s a whole lot better than Max taking his anger out on the mechanics. 

He texts Max on his walk home just to say, “ _honestly i think christian is in such a good mood today ur gonna get away with this one_ ”.

He gets a text from Max later that night that says, “ _;) can’t start going to debriefs now i have a reputation to uphold_ ”. Then another, “ _at least i finally finished the race lol_ ”.

Daniel snorts. Max has been moaning about wanting to finish a race properly in Monaco for weeks now. “ _ik. both of us finishing a race? who’da thunk_ ”, he responds, and adds a few different ironic smiling emojis for good measure.

Drunk texting with Max is fun because he can get away with a lot more. He sends a shrimp and a whale. Max texts back three middle finger emojis, and then Daniel gets dragged back in to do a celebrity shot in beer pong and he forgets all about their texting thread until Max asks him, “ _hey whens your flight to montreal?_ ” a week later.

In Canada, Max out-qualifies him again, and Daniel is concerningly less than bothered by it. Again.

He and Max are chatting on the way back from dinner Saturday night, both excited for the race tomorrow. The oppressive humidity of the day has cooled into a pleasantly warm evening, and they’d decided to walk the mile-point-three back to the hotel from the team dinner at a restaurant downtown.

“Maybe we’ll finally get to race each other tomorrow,” Daniel says offhand. He’s eager to get the start of this season behind him. That was his personal goal for the weekend, to keep looking ahead.

They walk under a sodium street light and Max grins, looking every bit the golden predator, king of the carbon-fibre beasts.

Daniel is abruptly reminded of Max’s foretold supremacy as a racer. It’s scary sometimes, how the light can change him.

“That would be fun.” His words are sincere but his eyes are dark.

They pass through the glaring lights of a parking ramp. 

Daniel reminds himself to breathe, and grins back.

\---

Max gains three places in the first 300 meters of the race, and he’s running in second. 

Bottas is sticking to him, and once they restart from the Safety Car, he’s flooring it, willing his car to stay ahead of the Mercedes. Things stay close and tight for a couple laps, the gaps barely fluctuating from sector to sector. He braces his left knee for a sweeping right-hander, eases towards the kerb, and then everything goes quiet. Then everything starts going backwards.

His engine cuts out. He coasts onto the grass.

Max’s pulse is still pounding from the pace of the first ten laps. He can’t hear anything above that. 

When he opens his visor the humid heat smacks him in the eyes, and there’s leaves and twigs and little clumps of poplar seed flying everywhere in the crosswind. His entire field of vision from inside the cockpit is a verdant green. The sun is bright overhead. He breathes in the hot air of the track.

He’s seething.

Time ticks back into motion. Max manages to bite out that he’s okay to GP and then he all but rips his radio cable off, letting his rage out as much as he can within the confines of his cockpit. 

He’s out of the car and stripping off his gloves by the time the marshal reaches him, stalking quickly away from the stranded car. Ignores what the marshal tells him about the VSC. The pack has passed him by now and he doesn’t really give a shit either way.

\---

Max is two cars in front of him and then suddenly Daniel is whipping past him, stopped on the grass.

He hits the radio button. “Max is out?” he asks Simon.

“Yep. I’ll keep you up to date if it’s gonna affect our race. We do have a Virtual Safety Car, Virtual Safety Car.”

“Kay.” Daniel turns the radio off again and checks his delta. 

Daniel doesn’t seek Max out after the race.

Azerbaijan comes quickly, the first of a triple header, and the race feels as if the track itself is trying to make up for the lack of drama last year, because it seems like every time they start they’re stopping again.

Daniel goes back into the garage during a red flag to find a snack, and finds Max in one of the cool-down rooms already changed into his street clothes. Max smiles at him crookedly, like half of him wants to smile and half of him hates the idea. 

“What a fucking mess, huh,” Max says, and Daniel softens. He sounds drained. Daniel knows the feeling.

Daniel chuckles a little, still thinking about the rest of the race as he absently unwraps his energy bar. “Yeah,” he agrees. “This is the race we were expecting last year, huh?” Max hums and they both watch the TV coverage on the little monitor in the corner for a few more moments before Daniel sighs and says, “I better get back out there.”

Not thinking much of it, he braces a hand on the back of Max’s chair, leans in, and kisses him on the mouth before leaving. It isn’t until he’s back in the pit lane that he thinks to question what he’s just done.

Daniel is brought Max’s hat by mistake for the podium and for half a second he’s paranoid that someone saw them during the red flag, even though he knows the door was closed. He has to ask Coulthard to repeat his question.

\---

Max spends the weekend in Saint-Tropez for Daniel’s birthday. It’s partially planned and partially coincidence that a couple of his friends are in town and want to have a good time. When Max suggests they head down the coast instead of staying in Monte Carlo, everyone jumps at the idea. His friends get to go to a real club and he gets to see Daniel on their off week. It’s a win-win.

Most of his afternoon is spent with on a boat someone rented, fighting for the aux, daring each other to do dumb things, and drinking beers out of a cooler. His evening is spent trying to keep up with his friends as they try to hit every party in town, and then a good chunk of his night is spent trying to track down where Daniel’s party has gotten to.

Once he finds the resort—he’d finally tracked down Stoffel who’d been able to point him in the right direction—he realizes that he doesn’t know ninety percent of the people here, and Daniel is nowhere to be found.

He grabs a drink so he doesn’t look too out of place, and starts circulating, asking an English guy standing near him if he knows where Daniel is. He asks again and again until finally someone tells him they saw Daniel out in the pool. Well, Max is just drunk enough that the pool sounds like a wonderful idea. He sets his disgusting craft beer down on the banister and makes his way out to the back patio.

Daniel is in the pool, along with about ten other men who are also semi nude. When Max slithers into the water, though, Daniel breaks away from them immediately to wash up against him, watch, belt buckle, and all.

“Max!” he yells, and then laughs at Max’s hair—he’d lost his cap somewhere in the house.

“Hey there, birthday boy,” Max says, and Daniel looks up at him from where he’s not supporting himself with his legs but clinging to Max’s waist instead.

Daniel’s mouth hangs open for a few seconds while he visibly attempts to focus on Max’s face.

Max envelops his shoulders in a loose hug so they don’t tip farther into the deep end. 

“Hi,” Daniel gushes. “This was the best- the _best_ idea.” He laughs again and puts more of his weight into Max’s arms. His eyes are suspiciously big. 

“You didn’t take candy from a stranger, did you, Daniel?” he teases.

Daniel grins. “Aaaaah, you got me,” he says, still refusing to stand under his own power. “Don’t worry, my brave, pale white knight, I promise the guy who gave it to me was a friend.”

Max doesn’t know more than half the people here, but he’s too drunk and also not responsible enough to judge Daniel for taking drugs from a possible stranger. If Max is having half as much fun as Daniel is tonight on his own 29th birthday he’ll consider himself more than successful. “Okay,” he tells Daniel, who is currently nuzzling his face against Max’s abs. “Will you stand up, jeez.” He pushes Daniel away gently, and Daniel sinks to his chin, pouts, and then giggles again. “Christ,” Max grumbles halfheartedly, “at least tell me you know what was in it.”

Daniel frowns and stands- sort of. “When did you change your shirt? And it’s just weed, mother. Promise. Gummy bears, Max,” he adds, as if that makes it at all better.

“And you didn’t save any for me?” Max jokes, backing up to lean on the wall of the pool.

Daniel frowns again, and wow, Max is really hitting all the wrong cues tonight. “I don’t know where the guy went, sorry mate,” Daniel says sadly, looking around the pool.

Max tugs him closer and puts his arms around him again. “I’m just kidding,” he promises. Daniel sinks against his chest.

“This is nice,” he murmurs.

“I haven’t seen you, like, all night,” Max says. “Not since before sunset.” He messes with one of Daniel’s damp curls for a moment, then smooths it back from his forehead.

“Mmh,” Daniel agrees. “Someone said there was gonna be dancing. I wanna dance.”

Max almost laughs at him. He hates dancing but Daniel loves it. “Okay,” he says indulgently. “But I’m gonna sit this one out.”

“No,” Daniel whines as they climb out of the pool. Max extends a hand to Daniel but he bats it away and boosts himself out. “Come dance.”

Max is just drunk enough to hesitate before saying no, and Daniel jumps at the hesitation.

“Yes! Let’s go. Come on. You’re gonna dance with me, and then you can go be boring after.”

Max steers him away from body shots but lets him pull his shirt off for him. When they finally make it through the house to where the music is loudest, Max tugs him close by the hips, not worrying about who’s watching. Daniel immediately plasters them together and Max lets him dictate the rhythm. He breathes in the pool smell on Daniel’s neck, and Daniel leans his head back to let Max mouth along the side of his throat while they grind sticky slow and lazy to the beat.

Their chests are clammy where they touch, their shorts are still soaked, Daniel hasn’t had shoes on since 6 PM, and Max is half hard and still very drunk. But Daniel’s skin tastes like golden syrup, or maybe hand sanitizer, and his body may be tired but his mind is buzzing. 

“I’m supposed to take my friends back to the apartment. I’ll find you there?” he says into Daniel’s ear, and his voice comes out raspy and unused.

“Soon,” Daniel promises, and Max believes him.

Two hours later he’s left his party behind, unattended, and he’s in Daniel’s apartment meeting his eyes from the doorway.

He wishes Daniel a happy birthday again as an excuse for his presence and then says, “Let’s find somewhere else.”

Daniel nods and they squeeze into the hallway, halfway between the steamy dusk of the dancefloor and the overwhelming brightness of the kitchen. “I didn’t mean let’s make out next to the bathroom,” Max says as Daniel backs him into the wall.

He’s pretty sure there’s someone in Daniel’s bedroom right now, but before either of them can come up with a better solution, they hear a crash and loud shouting from somewhere up and right.

“Oh shit,” Max says. “My apartment.”

“You’re on clean-up,” Daniel says immediately. “I’m the birthday boy. I am not responsible if someone broke your TV."

“Sounded like the coffee table,” Max says absently. “Maybe the bookshelf. That was a lot of screaming.” They’re still chest-to-chest. Max usually runs hotter than Daniel but Daniel’s body is warm to the touch despite the fact the sun went down almost six hours ago, and despite his state of undress.

“You should probably go get on that,” Daniel says gently, knocking their noses together. Max is leaning against the wall so Daniel’s an inch taller than him.

Max sighs. “Yeah. Probably,” he agrees. Probably, he will be sleeping in a trashed apartment tonight and paying someone to clean it up for him on Monday. Max traces the soft part of Daniel’s abs under his belly button just to feel him shiver. “I’ll see you. Maybe not tomorrow. But next week for sure,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Daniel whispers back. “See ya.”

“Happy birthday, old man.”

Max tears himself away and feels Daniel’s body on his pecs and his fingertips and the bridge of his nose all the way to his own apartment. By the time he gets there he’s sobering up and he’s grumpy about the possibility of furniture damage and his nipples are cold. It’s not a terrible way to end the night, but he’s got blue balls so he’s snappier than he’d normally be. He and his friends kick the party out, ensure the Playstation is intact, have a beer each and then go directly to bed.

He thinks Stan slept on the balcony. The couch was sticky so he hopes Jorrit didn’t sleep there. All he knows is he wakes up alone in the morning and Stan has ordered a coffee delivery, like an angel, and greasy breakfast sandwiches that they all do their best to eat slowly, and they don’t talk about cleaning anything up beyond sticking the smoke machines back in the closet because they make the whole apartment stink.

Max isn’t sure how to do it. How to bridge this gap between wanting and having. Sometimes he feels like he can hold all of Daniel in his hands, and other times he can’t even reach him.

He catches a glimpse of Daniel at the track in his fireproofs, and it’s unfair, really, how Max wants so much of him and yet can’t figure out how to get close enough to try. No one has any business looking that hot in what is essentially long johns. Fuck, Max is so fucked.

\---

Max takes Daniel out at turn two, absolutely bulldozes into the side of him. Daniel didn’t see who it was who hit him, but even before Simon confirms his suspicions he just knows it was Max. They were gonna crash sooner or later, and honestly in retrospect Daniel is surprised this didn’t happen sooner. He’s too competitive to back down and Max is too proud to just let him past even when there’s no space, no chance.

Daniel ignores the marshals, scanning the pack behind the safety car until Max comes around for his second lap—up in fourth place, fucking asshole—and once he sees him, he flips him off, stomping off the track. He knows he’ll regret it later, but in that moment he can’t be fucked to care what it looks like. Max ended his race, no two ways about it. And although there’s no way Max saw him flipping the bird, it still makes him feel a little bit better.

He talks to Christian, talks to the media, and then heads back to his room, intending on changing out of his suit. When he gets there, though, he turns the lights out and thumps to the floor. He sits there for almost half an hour, in the dark with no music and sweaty hair. When he surfaces again to take a shower, he feels a bit more in control.

After the race, Max comes to find him in the hospitality unit, still dressed in his fireproofs. Daniel is wearing shorts and a polo.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing out of Max’s mouth. Daniel keeps his mouth in a flat, unimpressed line and waits for him to continue. “I just... I wanted to tell you. Before—” his face twists up into a complicated grimace that was probably meant to be a smile, “before Christian made me.”

Daniel feels his shoulders drop a little. Trust Max to find a way to handle his anger just right, to deflate him like a needle to a balloon. He breathes out evenly through his nose. Max probably hasn’t even completed his press duties yet. “Thank you,” he says. He doesn’t meet Max’s eyes, wants to make him work for it a little bit more.

Max doesn’t disappoint. “I fucked up, I know.”

Daniel snorts quietly. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

That’s a lie, but Daniel doesn’t call him on it. He lets Max squirm a couple more seconds, but he doesn’t want to leave things bitter and crackling between them. “I said some nasty things about you to the media,” he says amiably.

Max smiles. It’s small, like he’s not sure he’s allowed, but Daniel catches his eye and smiles back. No teeth; he’s not happy, but he forgives Max. Or, the smile is enough to let Max know that he will, eventually, forgive him. “Yeah, fair play,” Max allows.

Someone knocks on the door.

“Shit,” the smile drops off Max’s face so fast it’s almost comical. Any other time, Daniel would’ve laughed at him.

“Max, you need to come grovel in front of the cameras,” Vicky calls through the door.

“Yeah,” Max calls back, then turns back to Daniel. “Can we talk? Later?”

Daniel hesitates—Max apologized already and he really isn’t in the mood to hear any more about it—but then, “Yeah,” he says. “Later.”

They don’t talk. Daniel stews in his hotel room for two hours before calling a taxi and waiting another three hours in the airport before his flight leaves.

“ _sorry_ ”, he texts to Max. “ _left for the airport already. see you next month_ ”.

He doesn’t get a reply until he’s boarding the plane. “ _ok see you_ ”, it says, carefully unemotional. Or maybe he’s reading too much into it.

Daniel puts on his Aussie rock playlist and tries not to feel like he’s running from a fight.

Daniel meets a girl at this party over summer break, a friend of a friend who’d come along from Australia with all his mates. He asks if she wants to dance, and she laughs and tells him she’s a lesbian.

“Oh,” Daniel says. There aren’t many girls here, unfortunately for both of them. “Drink, then? Or dance anyway?” he asks, because she seems cool. She’s wearing the tackiest button-down shirt he’s ever seen and is pulling it off to great effect. She seems _really_ cool.

She shrugs. “Sure, let’s get a drink” she says, leading the way through the crowd. “I’m Aliyah,” she tells him when they reach the makeshift drinks station.

“Daniel,” he says, and takes the beer Aliyah offers him. “Cheers.” It’s got lemon in it or something citrusy, but it’s not terrible.

They end up talking for the rest of the night, chatting about mutual acquaintances and favorite bands and bucket lists, and she ends up painting his nails out on the back deck. It’s not the weirdest way he’s made a friend while drunk, and he follows her back on Instagram with the promise to keep in touch.

Christian comments on the manicure sort of off-handedly when Daniel comes back from break, but Daniel doesn’t really think Christian gets to judge him for this, so he ignores it. He makes it through the entire briefing with Simon before he comments on it, too, and Daniel flips him off with one _Midnight Rambler_ nail.

“Max’s engine again?” Daniel asks over the radio as he flies past Max on the track. He’s having some serious deja vu. 

“Affirmative, yes, we think so.”

“Jesus fuck.”

“Yeah, copy that,” Simon says.

\---

Max isn’t in the mood to talk to his father after yet another mechanical DNF, but he has to. He just feels like, despite the reset of the summer break, his season is still going nowhere. He doesn’t need his dad to tell him as much.

It’s hard to exist as if he were the core of a star. To know that some unfathomable day far in the future he will burn out, but until then he will be hard to get close to.

He chokes on his own muchness, some days.

Chats with his father never make it any better.

_King of the hill, king of the pride, king of the paddock_ , he thinks, and stares hard at the stylized lion on his helmet.

“I am my greatest asset,” he says to himself, and goes to see his father.

He’s trying to pick his way out of the garage without getting eaten alive by the orange army when he overhears a cheer start up in the stands. Max can hear the drone of the podium interviews still going on as the cheers die down, but then they start up again, and again, almost following a rhythm like they’re being told what to do. Max smiles. No doubt Daniel’s out there conducting some sort of spectacle; he’s like the pied piper of crowds, even if the vast majority of the Red Bull fans in the stands are there for Max.

Max shakes his head, but he’s in a better mood for the rest of the afternoon.

Max had changed Daniel’s contact name at some point when their texts started becoming less and less work related. It’s less suspicious to get a text that says “ _my place later?_ ” from the honey pot emoji than it is from “Daniel (work)”.

Max’s contact in Daniel’s phone is “Maxy V”, with a blue heart after his first name, but that’s because Daniel can pull that shit without anyone questioning it. Daniel’s got Helmut Marko’s number under “the big boss”, and Christian’s contact name used to be “team daddy” until Christian found out about it and made him change it.

They’ve been floating somewhere between co-workers who hardly know each other and the very best of friends for months now, but it’s the stupid little things that make Max think that maybe they’re changing together into something much bigger and brighter than they’d ever anticipated.

Of course it doesn’t last.

Max finishes a lap down in Monza and paces in the Energy Station waiting for the debrief like a caged lion.

When Daniel finally gets there he’s right behind Christian, who tells Max it wasn’t his fault, and that at least he managed to score a point.

Daniel pauses by his side at the back of the room.

“Christian can take his one point and shove it up his ass,” Max growls, and he hears Daniel covering up a snort.

It rains in Singapore, the first ever wet night race. Not that it matters to Max. His seventh DNF of the season goes down just as poorly as all the others.

\---

Daniel ends up P-2 behind the Safety Car, and when they’re led through the pit lane he drives past Max stalking back the other way towards the Red Bull garage all the way at the other end. He winces.

Max’s helmet is already off, and he looks angry in that quiet, expressionless way that Daniel fears means he’s about to shut down entirely. The next time they come through the pitlane he catches Max’s blaze orange hat disappearing back into the garage, and then his radio crackles to life.

“Alright, mate, Max says he thinks inters were the right choice, how’s it feeling out there now?”

“Fine, yeah, there’s not too much water.”

“Alright, copy.”

“Did I have any damage?” he asks.

“We’ll check next time you come ‘round.”

\---

Max puts off his media duties. He wants to stay in the garage and watch the race, but he knows it’s better to get it out of the way as soon as he can. When they get a third safety car, he figures he’s loitered around GP’s station long enough, and joins the other race retirees in the media pen.

After he’s done, he showers and heads back to the garage, sweating through his clothes again already. His crew pull up a folding chair so he can sit with them until they have to pack down and Max has to schlep over to the stewards’ office to listen to Seb and Kimi try to explain what happened at turn one. He sighs heavily, feeling sorry for himself, and three separate mechanics ruffle his hair. Max grimaces at all of them but feels his mood lift in spite of himself.

“Holy fucking shit,” Daniel greets Max when he walks into the debrief meeting with champagne in hand, shaking his head in disbelief.

Max widens his eyes in agreement. “I know. Honestly, I have to laugh.”

Daniel smiles and plunks the huge bottle of Carbon into Max’s chest. He presses a loud kiss to Max’s sweaty temple as he passes to take his seat on the other side of the bank of monitors. Max’s eyes crinkle and he raises the bottle to Daniel in a cheers, then holds it on his lap as the strategists start to go over Daniel’s race.

Once they’ve covered the laps leading up to the second safety car, one of the performance engineers ducks into the room and chats briefly with Christian before coming over to tap Max on the shoulder.

“Stewards are ready for you,” she says sympathetically.

Max grunts. “Alright,” he says. He gestures briefly at Daniel with the champagne he’s somehow still in possession of, raising his eyebrows. Daniel shakes his head minutely.

Max follows the engineer out of the room and listens as she tells him where the stewards’ room is set up for the weekend and he thanks her before setting off, champagne in hand.

It ends up being the dumbest inquiry Max has ever been a part of. After his initial explanation of the crash they have no further questions for him, so he sits there drinking straight out of the bottle while Kimi and Seb try to pin the crash on him and he tries his damndest not to roll his eyes.

It’s cathartic in a weird way.

“Need a distraction after that shitshow?” Daniel says good naturedly on the way back to the hotel. How they ended up leaving the track at exactly the same time is still a mystery to Max.

“Get me drunk?” Max asks. After all, he’s been pregaming for about an hour already.

Daniel grins. “That I can do.”

\---

“I’m not angry,” Max says as they reach the elevators. His face is screwed up in confusion. He almost looks put out.

Daniel laughs at him. “Mate, you need to stop worrying about whether you should or shouldn’t be angry. Maybe that’s a good thing.” Max looks like he’s gonna need to think that one over, so Daniel just claps a hand on his shoulder, says, “Right, I’m gonna go take a shower,” and leaves him to it.

They go out with Carlos, who is ecstatic after his fourth place finish, and lose him within ten minutes of entering the club.

Daniel’s reminded of the reason he usually doesn’t go out on Sunday nights anymore when he gets hit with a wave of exhaustion after only just getting there. He pushes through to the bar with Max following close behind him, close enough to make Daniel nervous.

They don’t dance together when they go out in public, but they especially don’t dance together in Singapore.

Daniel orders an espresso martini and Max makes a retching noise to his left. Daniel smirks into his glass.

After a couple of minutes, Max nudges him and nods to a couple of girls at a table near them who are eyeing them. They don’t look like locals, in fact they look like they could be models. Daniel glances at the way their outfits perfectly offset their skin tones, at their long smooth legs under the table. Definitely models.

Max leads Daniel over and asks the shorter girl to dance, and Daniel slides into her seat smoothly as she stands, setting his glass down and introducing himself to her friend.

Daniel chats her up for a couple minutes, finishing his drink before they get up to dance, too.

He and Max lose track of each other for a while, and Daniel loses himself in the pounding headache of the club music, the silky sway of Isa’s hips against his front. He comes back to himself suddenly and finds himself hyperaware of his surroundings. He’s about to ask Isa if she wants to take a break and grab a drink when she turns around in his arms and tells him she’s going to run to the restroom.

Daniel agrees easily, and sees her disappear into the back hallway reunited with her friend from earlier. He has no idea how they coordinated that, but he doesn’t much care. He heads back to the bar and is thinking about ordering another drink when Max finds him and asks if he wants to head out.

Daniel’s made it clear to Isa that he’s not going home with her. Max probably hasn’t done the same with his dancing partner. They leave together anyway before the girls get back from the restroom.

They’re within a mile or so of the hotel, so they walk back together, abandoning Carlos to whoever manages to whisk him away. Neither of them brought a jacket, so it’s pretty painless to just slip out of the club and turn left towards the track.

It’s a sticky night in Singapore. The lights at the track are still on full, and it lights up the cityscape even more than it probably usually is. Daniel’s not quite sure whether the buzzing in the air is from the humidity, the alcohol, his semi, or the three million watts down the way.

They make it back alright, if absolutely drained. They draw the curtains against the glow of the lights and fall into bed. Daniel’s not sure whose room it is, but it’s the one they’ve been staying in all weekend.

“You wanna make out for a bit, or are you too tired?” Max whispers.

Daniel hums happily in his nose and rolls over onto his side. He kisses Max and licks into his mouth, content to let his brain shut off while Max sucks on his tongue for a bit. He’s so fucking happy. He’s buzzed; he placed second; he’s got someone to make out with; the humidity here has been doing wonders for his skin; their room is dark and the air is cool; he had a ridiculous amount of fun on track today; Max’s mouth is his favorite place in the world right now. 

Daniel also can’t tell up from down but he’s not about to open his eyes to find out. He sighs, and it comes out sounding embarrassingly close to a whine. He pulls back from Max, but frowns to himself when he can’t see the flush he can feel on Max’s face since it’s so dark.

“Hey,” Daniel says gently, patting whichever part of Max is closest to his hand. “Thanks for taking care of me.” His tongue feels heavy and the skin around his lips is cooling uncomfortably quick so he wipes his mouth on the sheets. 

When they kiss, it’s anything but neat.

Max grabs his hand to stop it flailing around and kisses his fingers. “Congrats on your race, by the way,” he rumbles. “I don’t think I told you that.” Now he’s the one who sounds like he’s falling asleep. Hopefully he moves over before then because he’s too heavy to pass out on top of Daniel.

“Thanks, mate,” Daniel manages through a yawn.

Max snickers. “Alright, let’s sleep now.”

Daniel hums and allows Max to roll away and rearrange their limbs and then hooks his ankle over Max’s, the only way they’ve been able to compromise between Daniel’s inability to stay on his side of the bed and Max’s inability to fall asleep while touching another human.

“‘Night,” Max whispers.

Daniel sighs in contentment. “‘Night,” he whispers back.

Max’s birthday is the Saturday of Malaysia.

It’s one of the few races this season that Victoria is attending, so Daniel doesn’t see much of Max except when they’re at the track, and even then they’re busy so he doesn’t really get to hang out with Max until Sunday night after the race is done.

They've both sweat out practically all of the water in their bodies and Max is inhaling Red Bull like it’s artificially cooled air, their eyes sunken back into their sockets and their cheeks sallow as if they’d caught a virus. 

The relief of the win is obvious in the set of Max’s shoulders and the looseness in his cheeks. Max is smiling more than usual, delirious from the instant buzz of the champagne on his dehydrated system, and Daniel can’t stop touching him. 

They make it back to Max’s room, and Daniel asks “Where’s your lube? I’m gonna get you off later.”

“Later?” Max scoffs incredulously while scrambling to pull it out of his bag.

He hands Daniel a travel sized bottle and Daniel hums and nods. “Let’s watch something first.”

Max eyes him warily. “Okay, sure,” he says.

Daniel flips the little plastic bottle over in his hands while Max queues up Netflix on his laptop.

He holds it in his left hand, settles his right on Max’s thigh and keeps it there, rubbing small circles with his thumb and listening to Max’s breath speed up.

By the time they’re halfway through their second episode of The Office, Daniel’s hand is firmly placed over Max’s crotch and he’s petting Max’s thighs and dick through his sweatpants.

Max lifts his hips slightly against the heel of Daniel’s hand and Daniel turns his head to look at him. He’s focussing firmly on the screen but his hands are clenched by his sides and his lips are pressed together so tightly they’ve turned white.

Daniel holds up the lube and shakes it back and forth between two fingers.

“Would you like me to do something about that?” he asks Max lowly, getting a loose grip on his dick through the layers covering his lap.

Max nods and Daniel uncaps the lube.

“Take your pants off,” Daniel says, and Max complies, sitting back in the same position propped up against a couple of pillows when he’s done.

Daniel pushes Max’s shirt up his stomach a ways so he can reach Max’s dick and then pours a generous amount of lube into his hand. It’s already warm from being held in his opposite hand for the past half an hour, and it must feel good to Max because he sighs when Daniel finally wraps his hand around him.

Daniel continues to work Max up, jacking him off painfully slow. When they reach the end of the episode he squeezes more lube over his hand and Max’s dick, and Max chokes on a whine as it gets even slipperier between them.

The third episode is harder to sit still through for both of them. The final break between scenes finally fades out and Daniel focuses all his concentration on Max. He deserves it for waiting this long.

Max, meanwhile, has been reduced to lying back as far as he can to get the leverage he wants to thrust up into Daniel’s hand. Daniel’s been holding back by lifting his wrist too high for Max to reach, but now he tightens his grip and starts jacking him in earnest.

Max moans out loud for the first time all evening and it thrills Daniel in the pit of his gut. He’s glad he found the patience, because seeing Max’s eyes half lidded and hearing him on the edge of pleading when all he’s done is give him a handjob is so worth it.

When Max comes, it’s drawn out and he shakes through it. Daniel kisses him on the forehead and then on the mouth.

“You did so good,” he whispers into Max’s hair, kissing his forehead again.

Max only groans into his next kiss and blinks up at him, eyelids getting heavier each time.

“Go to sleep, I’ll be right back,” Daniel says.

He cleans himself up and then joins Max under the covers, pressing another kiss to the crown of Max’s head.

They forget to set an alarm but it’s not the end of the world.

“Why _do_ we get along so well?” asks Daniel.

Max considers for a moment. “I think it’s because we’re so different.”

Daniel nods. When Lewis had asked them earlier he hadn’t thought about it too much, but Max might be onto something. “If we were any more similar I’d hate your guts,” he says. No “I think”, no “probably”. Max is, as always, the exception to his rules.

“Yeah, and I’d have punched you in the face by now,” Max agrees, wry, with a smile.

Max has been ruthless lately in exploiting Vettel and Hamilton’s championship battle. He’s got less to lose, which makes him exponentially more dangerous. Vicious like a lion, and without guilt.

When Max smiles at him like this, Daniel is reminded exactly how unyielding he can be.

Max joins him on the bed and rolls towards him eagerly.

“I refuse to kiss you with that thing on your face,” Daniel insists.

Daniel has kissed Max when he has tasted of vomit. When his cheeks have been stiff with the cold, and when Max was far too young for Daniel to ask anything of him in the first place. But, well, he has to draw the line somewhere.

“Oh my God,” Max laughs at him, because they both know Daniel is full of shit.

Max has kissed Daniel after a fight, and half asleep, and on a plane 40,000 feet in the air. Daniel has never once pushed him away.

At the end of the night, with Daniel’s come in his mouth and no beard burn anywhere on Daniel’s body—Max made a point of that—Max tells him, “Don’t worry, I’ll shave before Austin.”

And Daniel thinks, _Oh God. I think I’ve lost charge of the situation_.

“Fuck you,” he musters weakly.

“No thanks,” Max says without missing a beat, and smacks a kiss against his cheek. As if to say, _Oh honey, you were never in control_.

\---

Max loves Austin just as much every time he comes back, but the way his Sunday ends is far from ideal. Christian is spitting mad about the time penalty and his lost podium during the debrief, and although Max is upset as well, he’s done this before. Now that he’s off the track, there’s nothing he can do. Thankfully they keep the debrief short.

Daniel finds Max briefly after the end of the meeting and half-smiles as he runs a finger along Max’s freshly shaven jaw. He presses a kiss there as well, holding Max’s face still with three fingers around his chin, then walks off.

Max’s mom and sister are there to spend Victoria’s birthday weekend in the states, and getting to spend time with them helps ease the sting of losing the podium a little.

He fights his mom over the check three separate times over the course of the weekend. It’s been a long time since the three of them had time to eat meals together on the same continent, and it’s only because he doesn’t want to spoil the mood that he relents. 

Only on one occasion, though.

Max never realizes how much he misses his sister until they’re together again. He lets Victoria take him shopping on Monday afternoon, following her into store after store and finally putting his foot down when they haven’t stopped for food in almost three hours and he’s starting to get irritated at all the different store’s perfumes.

“We just got bubble tea,” Victoria rattles her cup at him.

Max rolls his eyes. “Real food, Bink.”

They compromise, Max dragging Victoria out of Lush as quickly as possible and then letting her test out a face mask on him once they get back to the hotel. It smells exactly like his bubble tea did earlier.

He hugs her goodbye once they have dinner and she leaves to head back to her own room.

Over winter break, Max takes Daniel to Ibiza for the first time, and they spend four days doing shit all to do with racing. Daniel’s never been, and during the day Max takes him around the resorts, pointing out where he used to spend time as a child. At night, they bounce from club to club. Sometimes Max recognizes the DJs, but more often than not the music is pretty shitty.

“Serves us right for coming in the middle of the week,” Daniel shouts to him one evening as they duck out the back door.

Max rolls his eyes at him and they both strip their socks off to walk back to their hotel along the beach.

Ibiza gives them a chance to learn each other a little better, now they’re finally outside the F1 circus and the bubble of the racing world. It also hammers home a few things they definitely knew already, like how Max really can’t stand seafood, and how Daniel can’t multitask to save his life.

One day they cross the island and go for a hike along the coast—because they wanted to, and not because Daniel received a strongly worded text from Michael—and end up soaked from clambering too far down the rocks. Daniel strips his shirt off and tucks it in his waistband. After a moment’s deliberation, Max follows suit, and they spend the rest of the afternoon slogging back up the hill and waiting for their boots to dry. It’s a rare sunny day for December in the Mediterranean, and it’s only chilly once they’ve stopped moving for a while, but Max is grateful for at least one day of nice weather. It’s been cloudy all week.

Max sits on the gravel path, hanging his bare feet off the overlook, and waits for Daniel to come join him.

The sky is a deep cornflower blue, and the clouds over the mainland are fluffy white and towering. Max takes a deep breath through his nose and watches a swarm of seagulls circle high above the sea. The contrast of the birds against the sky matches the whitecap waves on the water, and the wind buffets against the cliffs, stirring in his hair. It smells like salt and water and death and life.

“This is so nice,” Daniel says from beside him, and Max nods. “Thanks for inviting me. I’m definitely coming back. Four days is not enough.”

_I hope this always reminds you of me_ , Max thinks irrationally, and brushes a rock over the ledge. “Yeah, I’m glad it worked out,” he says.

They hook up again the last day they’re there, after spending hours drinking on the beach under the pretense of a late brunch. Daniel’s skin is warm all over from the sun, and Max’s back is bright red from spending several days in a row shirtless around a man who tans brutally quick.

They’ve been watching the Fast and Furious movies together over the course of the last year or so, but have only made it as far as the sixth.

“This sucks,” Max says, shifting uncomfortably. His sunburn itches so bad.

“Come on,” Daniel scoffs. “This is one of the good ones. Definitely better than the last one.”

Max hums and starts licking Daniel’s collarbone. “I’ll show you better than the last one.”

“Terrible line,” Daniel says as he sits up to strip his shirt off and settle back into the same position.

Max shifts closer and starts grinding slowly against Daniel’s thigh.

Daniel’s hand comes down to rest on his ass. “After this scene, I’ll blow you,” he promises.

Max grunts in disbelief and gets a hand in Daniel’s pants.

“It’s a good scene,” Daniel says. “It’s almost over.”

“It better be.” Max isn’t even bothering to look at the screen anymore. He rolls his hips lazily against Daniel’s body and revels in the slow heat of the day. His eyes slide shut and he runs his hand over Daniel’s abs before getting back to his dick.

“Like what you see?” Daniel asks.

“I don’t know. I’m not that impressed yet,” Max says, just to be a little shit about it. He’s horny, sue him.

“I’m a big boy.”

“You’re not _that_ big,” Max insists.

“Bigger than you,” Daniel fires back.

Touché.

After they hook up, they get drunk again and Daniel studies Max’s eyelashes while Max tells him a story about losing Victoria at the beach when they were little. They lose their tipsy minds over the dialogue in the final scene and fall asleep side by side while the room spins pleasantly around them.

They travel back to Monaco together but Max doesn’t see him at all for the rest of the break. He kills time on his simulator and calls up his friends and counts the days until he has to fly back to the UK and prepare for the preseason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am disappointed daniel is not more of a slut in this but oh well what can u do ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	3. 2018: the lion's roar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> of silliness, of sadness, and of smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here u go kids! it's 2018 knock yourselves out crazies
> 
> I added a couple tags for this chapter!! pls make sure to check them b4 reading  
> Re: the somnophilia tag. I tagged it bc I’d rather be safe than sorry but there’s a spoilery, more detailed warning in the end notes if you’d like.
> 
> chapter title from [here](https://genius.com/First-aid-kit-the-lions-roar-lyrics)

Daniel shows up to the factory in Milton Keynes an hour later than he’s supposed to. 

It’s raining in London, he couldn’t find an umbrella in the airport, and the car that’s supposed to pick him up is all the way at the end of the queue. He’s been here ninety minutes and he already wishes this whole entire island would fall into the sea and he could just live in Australia year-round.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles to the room full of executive directors and chief of whatevers, still dripping onto the carpet and feeling like a drowned ferret. A ferret that has to attend meetings and answer the same two questions six different ways for the next month and a half.

He sits down across from Max, who kicks his foot under the table in greeting. Daniel kicks back. “Hey.”

“Don’t worry,” Max whispers. “I literally just got here.”

Daniel tries not to laugh as someone starts the meeting by passive-aggressively mentioning the time. Max looks very tan and also like the ferret that got in the chicken coop.

Daniel kicks him again, harder this time, and the smug look drops off Max’s face rewardingly quickly. Take that, you funny-looking ferret.

“Hey, can I talk to you?” Max says after the meeting finally ends.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Daniel asks, following Max down a side hallway away from the stream of bodies heading towards the caf.

Max looks around quickly before pulling Daniel into an empty lounge and shutting the door behind them. Before Daniel can so much as raise an eyebrow, Max has him pinned to the wall and is kissing him hard.

Daniel grunts in surprise but quickly gets with the program. He wraps his hands around Max’s biceps and lets Max keep his hips in place with his own hands.

They refamiliarize themselves with each other’s mouths, Daniel tracing Max’s cupid’s bow, his hard palate, the wire retainer behind his top teeth. Daniel’s surprised to realize that he’s missed Max’s cologne. He’s less surprised to remember how much he likes it when Max pushes him around.

Max pulls away after a minute and smiles at him. “I didn’t actually want to talk,” he says unabashedly.

Daniel snorts. “I gathered as much.”

Max is still grinning like a loon when he leans back in.

\---

As always, there are too many days spent in meetings and sim rooms and in front of cameras before they can actually get to Barcelona to start testing.

Neither Daniel nor Max has a permanent residence in England, but they stay in the same place every year they come back, and they each have a car to get to and from the factory, so it’s not as uncomfortable as living on the road during the season. At least here they have multiple rooms to themselves.

The days they’re not needed at the factory drag on into eternity, Max pretending to let Jake be his dietician as if he’s ever going to stick to a meal plan in his life. The only upshot to all the boring routine of things is that he and Daniel get to spend most nights together without worrying about getting caught.

Sleeping together almost every day takes a bit of the tedium out of their winter break. They’re both itching to get out in a car, and it translates to their demeanor in bed.

One night they start hot and heavy. Max is pretty sure Daniel ripped his shirt at the seams trying to get it off more quickly, and he launches himself up the bed backwards once he does.

Max follows him on hands and knees, eager to take as much as he can get, restless and uncoordinated.

Daniel lifts his head to meet him in a kiss and their heads collide, whacking their noses painfully.

“Ow,” Max says, leaning back and taking the opportunity to undo his pants.

“You know what they say about guys with big noses,” Daniel says on a laugh, doing something stupid with his eyebrows.

“Please shut up,” Max says, kissing Daniel quiet.

Daniel’s in no mood to take his time, if the way he takes Max’s hand and brings it down to his dick is any indication.

“You’re so ridiculous,” Max says as he gets a grip on Daniel through his joggers.

He ducks down Daniel’s chest, biting at his ribs for good measure as he goes. Daniel helps him slide his pants and briefs down in one go.

Max loses himself in the rhythm of working Daniel to hardness with his mouth, stroking him firmly with one hand and letting Daniel’s hand grasp the only part of his hair that’s long enough to dig his fingers into.

Daniel gasps and Max breathes through his nose. He’s a man on a mission. Lately he’s been trying to see how fast he can make Daniel come, although Daniel doesn’t know it. Every time Daniel comes before he does is an exquisite victory.

Tonight, Daniel hasn’t yet come when he tells Max to stop.

“I want you up here,” he says, beckoning Max to lie on top of him.

Max nods, his jagged breaths the only thing he can manage to voice. He tries to kiss Daniel and take his jeans off at the same time. They get stuck around his feet and he whines in disapproval. Daniel laughs and they pause while Max sits up and yanks them all the way off his legs.

As soon as his legs are free, Daniel hauls him back up the bed. Max doesn’t get a chance to brace his hand and he ends up half-crawling, half-falling on top of Daniel, and he feels his head knock into Daniel’s for the second time tonight.

When he raises his head there’s blood everywhere.

Max yelps and rears back. “Oh, _shit!_ ”

The only thing he can think is that he’s broken Daniel’s nose, and a litany of _shit-shit-shit-shit_ on repeat. 

Daniel is moaning and Max feels just awful. Christ, how did this happen.

Max’s hard-on has completely died because he’s got a massive surge of adrenaline all of a sudden and he’s worried and Daniel’s _hurt_ holy _fuck_ , but then he tries to take stock of Daniel’s injuries and—

“Did you just get off on that?!” He asks rather hysterically, and he gets a little light headed from his dick trying to get hard again so soon. “You know what, nevermind,” he says faintly.

Max runs to get a towel from the bathroom—naked—and wipes the blood off of Daniel’s face and neck, then rinses the cloth and wipes the come off his stomach and goes back to get a clean one for the rest of the blood.

He’s freaking out and Daniel’s laughing.

“You _dick_ ,” Max says emphatically. “I can’t believe you. That was not funny. You- Jesus.”

Daniel just squeezes his arm and says, “It’d okay, Mak,” through the towel.

Daniel comes to work a couple days later—not at the track, thank God, they’re still in Milton Keynes—with two black eyes. Max snickers when he first sees him. 

Daniel wags his finger. 

“Oh, no no no. You don’t get to laugh at this.”

Max continues laughing, but he checks no one is around before pulling Daniel into a closet to kiss him quickly. 

Daniel winces and pulls back. 

“Sensitive?” Max asks.

“Yeah.”

“Mm, sorry,” Max says, kissing Daniel on the brow instead, then his cheekbone, then behind his ear.

By the time they’re in Barcelona, freezing their asses off in the idyllic Catalan spring, Daniel’s eyes are brown again and all is forgiven.

\---

“I should’ve been a ho,” Daniel remarks sadly, pulling his beanie lower and trying to fit his frozen hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans.

It startles a laugh out of Max, one of Daniel’s favorite ways to make him laugh. “What?”

Daniel grins but it’s hidden by the collar of his jacket. “‘Cause a hoe never gets cold,” he says.

“You’re so stupid,” Max says through his smile. He’s wearing a normal cap, he’s got a badly placed hickey below his left ear, and he doesn’t look cold at all. 

_Hoe_ , Daniel thinks.

No matter what the results are, Daniel always loves the Australian Grand Prix. His spirits are buoyed afterward for the whole week leading up to Bahrain, where it all of course has to go to shit.

In the middle of lap one, Daniel’s steering wheel goes completely blank, all power lost. He pulls off to the side, cussing up a storm since there’s no radio to broadcast it to anyone. Then, like some sort of bizarre dream, Max drives past him with a spectacularly punctured rear tire, whole seconds behind the rest of the field already.

He can’t help it, he starts to laugh, but it’s a bitter and ugly thing, twisted up by disappointment.

Daniel goes to find Max after dinner more out of muscle memory than any conscious desire to rehash the sad state of affairs this weekend has become.

Max opens the door to his hotel room and stares at Daniel, clearly willing him to fuck off and let him stew in peace.

“Go for a walk with me,” Daniel says.

“I’m not in the mood,” Max says flatly. Daniel snorts. As if he were here to try and make Max feel better. He’s too tired for that shit.

“You don’t have to talk to me,” Daniel says, dogged. “I’ll buy you ice cream and you can just stomp alongside me in silence.”

Max exhales forcefully through his nose—almost a laugh, Daniel will take it—and then quickly frowns again, clearly upset that he’d let Daniel crack his pout so easily. Daniel grins; he knows he’s won. 

Max walks back into the room and Daniel follows him without being invited. He watches Max grab his wallet and his sunglasses, and then, deliberately, a non-branded jacket. “It’s not that cold, mate,” Daniel says, just to needle him a bit more.

Max turns back to him, still grumpy, and says, “Sure,” then pushes past him back out the door.

Daniel laughs out loud and follows Max to the elevator.

They end up finding a kitschy little bar on the waterfront, which Max struggles not to be charmed by, and they sit to watch ships pass on the sea. Daniel chats with the barman for a few minutes about what’s on tap, Max just orders something strong and neat and spins around on his stool until the bartender finally leaves them alone. Max nurses his drink while Daniel talks for the both of them about how he likes the contradictory architecture of the city, how some of the islands they can see from here are actually man made, and wonders aloud how many countries border the Persian Gulf, how long it would take to cross it. Max doesn’t know, either.

“You look cold.” Max remarks, after a brief silence. Daniel is surprised to see goosebumps on his arms. The magic of the beer blanket, he supposes. “Wanna head back?”

“Yeah, sure,” Daniel agrees. The beer he’d tried isn’t necessarily worth chugging the rest of, so he just leaves it on the bar and follows Max back up the beach, shoes in hand. About half a mile down the beach, Max wordlessly shrugs off his jacket and hands it to Daniel, who’d started to notice the chill after they left the shelter of the bar, and Daniel smacks him in the side for the smug look on his face. Warm-blooded asshole.

\---

Daniel is flying so high after his win in China that Max almost sends him away just because he doesn’t want to be the one to bring him down.

Sebastian has already taken the wind out of his sails with his little “grow up soon” speech in parc-fermé, and Max doesn’t want to pass on his surly mood to Daniel on a day like today. Breaking vicious cycles and all that.

There’s a pounding on his door. “Max, let me in,” Daniel whines.

Max should’ve known better. “Coming,” he groans, levering himself up off the bed and trudging over to the door. He opens the latch to Daniel’s grinning face and feels his shoulders lift already just at the sight of him. “I fucked up, I know,” Max says. Everyone’s been telling him so all evening.

Daniel frowns. “Hey. I meant what I said in the meeting. I honestly can’t say I wouldn’t have gone for that move on Seb. He doesn’t give up places easily. You know that, I know that, but at least you went for it.” Max stays leaning against the wall as Daniel moves around his room, plugging in his phone charger, rooting through Max’s mini fridge, and eventually settling on the bed with the TV remote. “Movie?”

Max hums. “You gonna be able to sit still for a whole movie?” He asks easily. Daniel’s grin flickers back on. One point for Max.

“You could help with that,” Daniel says suggestively, spreading his legs, and then immediately kills the mood by shrugging and adding, “Or not. I’ll probably knock out halfway through the movie either way.”

Man snorts at him and rolls his eyes, but gets on the bed next to him all the same.

Daniel starts singing. “ _I want your love, and I want it ba_ — oomphf.”

So they get each other off, and they put on a movie on Max’s laptop, and Daniel is most of the way asleep well before the halfway mark.

Max still has a little bit of residual energy so he stays up, mindlessly picking at his fingernails and then at a pimple growing under his chin.

“Hey,” Daniel murmurs. “Be gentle with your skin.”

“Go back to sleep. I’ll turn the light out,” Max says.

Daniel has slid most of the way into a reclined position by now, but he still takes a minute to settle himself against Max’s side, closer than they normally sleep, but Max will be up for at least the last half hour of the movie. He can deal with a cuddle until then.

One week later they arrive in Baku.

Another week and they rack up their second double DNF of the season. This time, though, there’s no one to blame but themselves.

\---

Daniel takes an extra ten seconds to replace his steering wheel even though the car is fucked just so he doesn’t have to walk back to the garage at the same time as Max. They change separately, and Daniel can’t hear a fucking thing through their shared wall. No conversations, no outbursts of anger, not even the thump of a helmet or a boot against the floor.

They sit side by side in the briefing room without acknowledging each other once they can’t ignore the debrief any longer. Daniel fidgets with his hands because he didn’t bother grabbing anything to eat or drink, doesn’t feel up for it. Halfway through Christian reaming them out—and Daniel’s sure he’s never seen him this angry before—Max wordlessly hands him his empty Red Bull Yellow can so he can bend the tab back and forth until it snaps off in his fingers. Daniel presses their ankles together as a thank you, and tries to feel something other than resigned and impatient. He taps the tab against the rim of the can until it slips in and rattles against the bottom and then he’s back to bouncing his knee and feeling restless.

It’s not until some of the guys running the debrief move on from castigating them and start to subtly encourage Daniel to apologize that he feels his anger flare up. He realizes with a sinking feeling that they’re letting Max off the hook. 

He wants to pin it on Christian, on Helmut, but mostly he feels hopelessly wrong-footed for not having seen this sooner, the swing of the pendulum, the sway Max has built over this team without either of them doing a single fucking thing to prompt it. He draws his foot back to where it belongs.

Daniel apologizes and can’t be fucked that it sounds more hollow than sincere. It was a racing incident. They lost a fuck-ton of points. It wasn’t his fucking fault, and yet here they are.

Max apologizes, too, which doesn’t do a whole lot to make Daniel feel better. It isn’t Max he’s angry with, anyway.

Daniel returns to his hotel room to pack his things before their flight and can’t seem to settle the simmering frustration long enough to focus. He paces for half a length of the room and then when that doesn’t work, he collapses onto the bed. He could really use a beer, but he doesn’t have time for a beer, and more importantly, he doesn’t have a beer.

Daniel closes his eyes, thankful he hadn’t turned the overhead light on yet, and counts his breaths. He thinks long thoughts about moving forward, and then throws in the towel and really starts stewing.

He thinks about another year or longer of the same old shit on the track. He knows himself, and he knows Max. They’re both stubborn fucks who can’t back down, and it’s honestly no wonder they crashed. Given the same car, they will always crash.

He thinks about the look in Christian’s eyes in the debrief that was way too close to disappointment.

He thinks about winning last year. He thinks about how fucking hard he’s worked to get to where he is now. He thinks about Max’s new contract. He thinks about Sebastian, that first year when they were teammates. He tries not to feel old.

“Ugh. Fuck you, Baku,” he groans, and pries himself off the bed to start packing.

He and Max don’t text each other and they spend the night in their own beds.

Monday morning, they get on the team jet to fly back to England at four AM.

“Morning,” Daniel greets Max when he finally makes it to the plane. Max was late so he’s the last one to board—business as usual.

“Morning,” Max grunts and plops himself into the seat next to Daniel. He grabs the corner of Daniel’s duvet and tugs half of it onto his lap, then settles himself down with his head on Daniel’s shoulder, presumably planning to sleep through takeoff. Again, business as usual. 

Daniel takes Max’s cap off because it’s jabbing him in the neck and sets it in his lap. He sees a couple people giving them the side-eye, like they’re expecting an explosion, but he just closes his eyes as well and leans back in the seat. It’s 4 AM, after all.

There are all these things that seem to be spelling out a natural end to his story. 

Simon’s changing jobs. Max has signed his big boy contract. A first driver kind of contract, if the numbers are to be believed. And Daniel loves Red Bull, he loves this team, but he’s been around long enough to understand that you will never mean as much to the team as the team means to you. He doesn’t want to stick around long enough to experience that firsthand.

Daniel is surprised when Max comes knocking on his door back at home.

“Are you really that mad about the crash?” Max asks, blank faced. Daniel blinks at him, not following. “I mean. You’ve been avoiding me.”

Ah. Daniel sighs in understanding. “Do you wanna come in?” he offers. Max nods and he leads him over to the kitchen and grabs them both a beer. He scrubs a hand over his face and tries to think of a reason not to just tell Max everything.

It’s not really any of Max’s business, whether Daniel moves teams or not. Except for how it kind of is.

It’s none of his-teammate-Max’s business, but they’re something different. There aren’t any teammates with a relationship like the one they have. Everyone says so, and Daniel believes it.

Max, his rival; Max, his friend. Max as the instrument to send him up the river; Max as the only motherfucker in the paddock he can stand to be around sometimes. The lions, the men, the cage.

He ends up deflecting.

“I’ve been having a rough couple weeks,” he says, “for personal reasons, you know. It’s not that I was trying to avoid you. Promise.”

Max doesn’t smile but his body language says that he’s relieved.

“We don’t have to talk about the crash, right?” Daniel ventures. They haven’t had sex since they arrived in Azerbaijan.

Max does smile, this time. 

He likes Max's lips. He called Max Kylie Jenner once and Max didn't speak to him for the rest of the day.

“No,” Max says. “We don’t. I hit you, you hit me, and now everyone wants us to finish the job.”

Daniel gets the distinct sense that Max is seeing right through him. “You gonna finish me off?” he croaks, half supplication and half innuendo, but then Max is right there sucking on his tongue and that's all he can think about anymore. The dripping wet of Max's mouth, the sharpness of his hip bones, the way his breath sounds coming heavy through his nose.

“You missed me,” Daniel remarks, and Max tightens his grip on Daniel’s wrists and bites his upper lip. Daniel hisses and slides his hands under Max’s sweatshirt. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbles. “Alright. Understood.”

They go to Amsterdam for Max’s racedagen festival, and race caravans like they’re still both in line for the throne. Daniel walks around the city after it’s over and Max has hopped across the border to visit his family, and falls in love with it a little bit. He buys himself dinner at a market and only gets recognized once on his walk back to the hotel.

It’s too soon afterwards that they’re back in Monaco for race week.

But he wins. And it’s so sweet.

Daniel knows he’d give anything in the world for this.

Max is there when he jumps in the pool. It seems important in his head but, like, so is Netflix and their manifest destiny to boldly stick their noses where no respectful media outlet has gone before. Still.

Once he’s taken the plunge into the pool—which is freezing—everything smears into a blur of hugging his parents, drinking like five Red Bulls, Christian talking about backflips and passive-aggressively bad-mouthing Netflix, Max’s neon orange shoelaces and subdued happiness, every single Red Bull employee’s elbows jostling him in the pool, setting down and being handed back his trophy about a hundred times, relief, elation, pride. By the time he gets back to his room to rinse the chlorine out of his hair, he’s weak in the knees. He cries in the shower for about four and a half seconds, give or take a few tenths, and then sits on the floor under the spray for another minute to try and spin his thoughts back under control.

He has to do media. He has to face the team again. He has to sleep today off and party with his friends tomorrow.

He can do this. He’s Daniel Ricciardo, seven time Formula One race winner. He won in Monaco. He can do this.

The race debrief is excruciating because it smells like ass and he knows there’s multiple hours of media waiting for him once the meeting’s over.

He starts doodling stick people on a napkin and passing it back and forth with Max, adding details to make a scene.

“Boys, please stop passing notes during the debrief.”

Max sheepishly turns the napkin over and sets his pen down on top of it while Daniel hides his smile.

When he finally makes it to his bed that night he thinks, _maybe I was overreacting after Baku. Maybe I should stay. Why fix what ain’t broke?_ But then it’s past two AM and he’s out like a light.

“Okay,” Max says after his P-3 in Canada. “That felt good.”

“Please brush your teeth before you kiss me,” says Daniel.

“What, you don’t like the taste of stale champagne?”

Daniel grins. “Not particularly, no.”

He’s already in bed with the lights down low just dicking around on his phone when Max gets back from the bathroom.

Max slides under the covers beside him. His kiss tastes like toothpaste.

They haven’t been hooking up as much lately, but they’re still kissing each other good night. They still sleep in each others’ rooms. 

_Have we become lovers without me realizing?_ Daniel wonders.

He takes in the way they lie together, Max flat on his back with Daniel on his right, an arm and a leg keeping him there. It works because Max can’t fall asleep on his side and Daniel can’t fall asleep unless the blanket is pulled all the way up to his shoulders.

 _Maybe_ , he thinks, _alr_ _ight,_ and sets his alarm for the morning.

\---

Daniel’s birthday is the same as race day in Austria, and while Max hasn’t gotten him anything as a present, when he wakes up before Daniel on Sunday morning he decides he shouldn’t let the day go unmarked.

Daniel’s on his back in the middle of the bed because he’s a terrible person to share a bed with, and overnight Max has made space for him, curling onto his side and around Daniel’s arm and body. Max reaches under the covers and pulls his body the rest of the way towards Daniel so that they’re touching, Max’s front to Daniel’s left side.

He’s thankful there’s enough time this morning to wake Daniel up properly, because if he’d slept in until his alarm there would be no time for what he’s about to attempt, and Daniel would be awake by then anyway. Max slips a hand into Daniel’s boxers and starts stroking him slowly, paying close attention to his breathing to check he’s still asleep.

Before he can lose his nerve, he ducks under the covers and takes Daniel into his mouth, pulling the blanket back only far enough to make sure he’s got enough air to breathe, and starts giving Daniel a lazy blowjob.

It takes almost a minute for Daniel to wake up, but Max isn’t deterred. He keeps a hand on his own dick through his boxers, grinding shallowly into the heel of his own hand.

“Mghmm?” Daniel finally enunciates, his eyes fluttering open.

Max pulls off of his dick just briefly. “Morning,” he says.

“Oh my God,” Daniel moans weakly, and clenches a hand in the blanket by Max’s head as he gets back to work.

Max works him up to orgasm, Daniel getting more vocal by the minute, and by the time Daniel comes their alarm still hasn’t gone off. Max smiles in accomplishment.

“You— You’re,” Daniel tries. “Jesus, get up here.”

Max goes easily and gets lost in a kiss for a few blissful minutes before his phone alarm actually does start going off.

He slaps at the screen to turn it off and presses another kiss to Daniel’s cheek.

“Happy birthday.”

Daniel chuckles, still throaty from sleep, and wipes a hand over his eyes. “I’ll say. Damn, what a way to wake up.”

Max gets up to take a shower and he’s quietly pleased with the dazed smile on Daniel’s face all through breakfast.

There’s nothing Max can do to make the rest of Daniel’s day any better, though. Daniel starts behind a Haas on the third row of the grid and has to retire 50 laps in due to an exhaust problem, and Max wins the race ahead of both Ferraris.

Silverstone is the last of the triple header and by the time they get there they’re both so fucking tired.

“Alright, pay attention,” Daniel says. “This is the most important thing I’m ever gonna teach you.”

Max obediently lifts his eyes from the phone in his lap and folds his hands over it. He assumes Daniel will interpret his silence as a sarcastic comeback. He’s not feeling particularly verbal at the moment.

He watches as Daniel rifles through his backpack, finally coming up with something that fits in the palm of his hand. Daniel grins and comes back to sit next to Max on the edge of the bed.

Daniel hands him a fun size Snickers and starts unwrapping his own.

“Sometimes,” he says, peeling the wrapper most of the way off, “you’re having a really shitty day. It’s cold, and it’s raining, and you haven’t slept well in a week, and you’ve got a crick in your neck and nothing is making you smile.” Daniel looks up at him, and his smile is the smaller, self satisfied one that only comes out when Daniel’s battery is running on low. “And someone hands you a chocolate bar the size of your thumb and you eat it and everything is okay again.”

Max tilts his head at Daniel, but copies his movements and then sticks the whole candy in his mouth. The chocolate is a little waxy, and the nuts are a little stale, probably from sitting in Daniel’s backpack for however long. 

It’s making him feel warm in a way he can’t account for.

“I’m not good with metaphors,” Max says through a mouthful of half chewed caramel and nougat. “What’s the deeper lesson here.”

Daniel pops the rest of his Snickers into his mouth. “Nothing,” he says. “It’s just chocolate. Swear to god it’s magic, though.”

Max hums and starts poking caramel out of his teeth with his tongue. They settle on the bed next to one another and focus on their own phones for a while, and Max feels sated down to his bones, and centered in a way he’s been struggling to find this past week. 

\---

Daniel has dinner with Seb one weeknight leading up to a race.

“Why did you decide to leave Red Bull?” Daniel asks.

Seb smiles serenely. He knew this was coming, clearly.

“Why _then?_ It can’t be just because you had one bad year,” Daniel hazards.

Seb sets down his riesling and hums. “I don’t know if I can answer this question for you,” he says bluntly. “You’re thinking of leaving, then?”

Daniel pulls a face. “I keep thinking I’ve decided and then,” he huffs, “I don’t know. I guess I’m just scared of leaving it all behind, you know?”

“Better the devil you know,” Seb nods, pulling out yet another of his countless weird sayings. Daniel has no idea how he knows so many English-language idioms, but he’s pretty sure Seb uses them to make himself sound smarter even if it’s in the wrong context sometimes.

“I guess,” Daniel agrees.

“Listen,” Seb says. “If you’re thinking this seriously about moving teams, chances are you’ve probably already made up your mind, so I’m not going to try and talk you into or out of anything. But to be honest, I didn’t really move because of the performance of the car, it was just...” Seb sighs, “Everything else.”

“I know what you mean.”

“I needed a change. There was so much I felt positively towards Red Bull, but there was also the bad, and it became all I could see.” Sebastian takes another sip of his wine. “And Ferrari basically told me to name my price, so.”

Daniel laughs.

“At least I’m honest, right?” Seb says wryly.

“Thanks, mate, I appreciate it.”

They cheers the last of their wine and end up splitting the check.

“I just think I need a fresh start,” Daniel says, more quietly, once they’re waiting for the valet.

Sebastian scrutinizes him for a moment, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Look, I’m sure you have your reasons,” he says, “but you don’t owe that team a damn thing. I know it feels like it, but—”

Daniel laughs to cut him off. “Yeah nah, I think I’ve stuck around long enough to figure that one out, too.”

Seb smiles at him. “I saw the headlines—what Marko said about you,” he guesses.

Daniel nods. “Déjà-vu?” It hadn’t hit him until tonight just how similar of a position Seb was in back in 2015. Back then, Daniel was the young phenom winning races and stealing the team out from under his teammate’s nose.

“A little,” Seb reponds.

“Yeah. Well, thanks again for tonight. Good luck this weekend. We’re gonna kick your asses, though.”

Seb rolls his eyes at him as Daniel’s car pulls up first. “Yeah, whatever. Anytime. And... good luck to you, too. With everything.”

“Thanks, Seb.”

Daniel and Max decide to fly out early together before summer break, neither of them up for spending another week in England than they absolutely have to, and they sleep next to each other in first class, Max with one blanket falling off his lap and Daniel with two tucked around his shoulders.

They part ways in the Nice airport, Max driving back to Monaco and Daniel heading straight on to America.

“See you in two weeks,” he says to Max.

“Yep, see you,” Max says, and that’s it.

Daniel’s mood improves after he signs with Renault, and Max’s sours.

Daniel doesn’t try to ask why, but he guesses that Max had simply assumed there was no way Daniel was ever going to leave Red Bull. Why would he, when there wasn’t a seat available at Mercedes or Ferrari?

The more they dance around the issue while still spending time together the more Daniel starts to think that Max doesn’t understand why he’d do it for any reason other than the money. Daniel gets defensive about it, and Max doubles down, and when he finally cracks and tells Max he’s leaving, they have a bit of a falling out.

“You think I signed because of the money? Jesus fucking Christ, Max.”

“Why would you leave?”

“Why—,” Daniel is speechless for half a second. He’d just spent the better part of five minutes explaining why he thought signing with Renault was the right decision. “Oh my God. You know my reasons. I told you my reasons. I didn’t tell anyone my reasons—”

“What, you’re just not happy here, is that it?” Max spits.

Daniel shakes his head. “That’s not what I said.”

“Well, I don’t understand!”

“I don’t care!” Daniel snaps. “You don't have to understand, because it’s my choice!”

Max’s face suddenly goes very dark, and Daniel may have escalated this but he knows Max is about to finish it. At some point in the last minute they crossed a line. They’re not friends here anymore, they’re just teammates who like to push each other a little too much, too hard, too often.

“So it doesn’t affect me?” Max asks.

Daniel fights back a sigh. He doesn’t want to start screaming again. “I didn’t say that. That’s not what I said.”

They stand there in Daniel’s living room, staring at each other. Max is asking for a justification that Daniel just can’t give him. Max huffs. “Fine, alright. Forget it.”

 _No, don’t shut down on me now_ , Daniel thinks. _You don’t get to do that_. He clenches his fists at his sides.

Max turns to leave and Daniel doesn’t ask him to stay.

The problem is, they’re not just teammates, they’re not just adversaries. Friends don’t fight like this.

Neither of them can end this by walking away.

Daniel puts his head in his hands in the sudden silence of his empty apartment and pulls on his hair to keep himself from screaming.

They stop talking for a while. Eventually they start talking again, though neither of them apologizes. 

\---

Max sees Daniel’s car parked on the side of a straight in Monza, and his first thought is, _Oh shit not again_. “Is everything alright with my engine?” he asks GP.

“Yep,” comes the immediate response. “No problems, Max.”

\---

Daniel DNFs for the sixth time this season and Max gets penalized five seconds for getting too close to one of the Mercedes, another lost podium and a chance at a win.

They stand across the hotel room from one another, both with clenched fists, steaming about the results of their races. After about ten seconds of silence, just looking at one another, Max’s shoulders drop and he huffs out an angry laugh.

Daniel laughs too, mostly just relieved. “God, look at us,” he says. “This is stupid.”

Max grimaces and makes another strangled noise, like he tried to agree but it got stuck in his throat on the way out. “I really wanted to smash my helmet through my door when I got out of the car. Helmut was watching, though.”

Daniel wouldn’t have blamed him, honestly. “I don’t understand why you’re still scared of him,” he jokes.

Max has started pacing and Daniel rolls his eyes at him.

“Mate, you’re stressing me out,” he says. “Will you come here, please?”

Max gives him a flat look. “I’m trying not to like, explode,” he responds, making an aborted gesture with his arms.

“Can I get you off instead?” Daniel tries, angling for a smile, and Max isn’t a people pleaser, but he gives it up for Daniel anyway.

“You know I’m not going to say no to that,” Max accuses.

“C’mon,” Daniel says. “Get on the bed.”

Max does, crawling up to loom over Daniel, who slides down the headboard to meet him.

“Better,” Daniel says, kissing Max twice.

“Much better,” Max agrees. “Please don’t make a joke about making me better with your dick.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Daniel quips, rolling them over so he can make good on his offer. He palms Max through his terrible khaki shorts. “I hate these shorts,” he remarks casually.

Max snorts, rolling his hips up into Daniel’s hand. “I know. But you have terrible taste, why should I listen to you for fashion advice?”

“I’m hurt,” Daniel says, leaning more of his weight against Max to stop him from gaining too much of an upper hand. “Do you think I could get you off twice in ten minutes? Oh wait, is your lube still in your dopp kit? Damn, I really should’ve thought ahead, huh.”

Max groans. “Please stop asking me questions and just make me come.”

Daniel laughs at him. “Sit tight, I’ll grab the lube.” He makes a dash to the bathroom. “You didn’t pack it up, did you?”

“I don’t know,” Max says. “It should be there.”

“Ha!” Daniel locates the blue zipper bag and carries it back into the room. “Okay, okay, hands off. That’s my job,” he admonishes Max, who’s started stroking himself while Daniel was occupied.

“You’re neglecting me,” Max accuses.

Daniel leans back over him and captures his top lip between his teeth to stave off his pouting. “And you have absolutely no patience,” he returns. “Terrible manners. Funny hair. I don’t know why I ever wanted to sleep with you.”

“I’m the one with the funny hair?” Max retorts, but it’s a bit breathless as Daniel twists at his left nipple a little meanly.

Daniel makes Max cry during sex but it’s only because he’s abusing of his knowledge of how ticklish Max is. Max laughs until there are tears running down his face and only then does Daniel let up enough for them both to get off.

“I finally finished a race,” Daniel says Sunday night after the race in Singapore.

“Don’t jinx us,” says Max.

They fall asleep within five minutes of turning the lights out.

\---

Max has the dream where he’s falling, and it’s just like every other time. He keeps falling, stopping, falling again. But this time, after it’s been so long he’s lost track of time, the pause lengthens, and he stops for good. He stands in the middle of an open room, with no walls in sight. He looks around and can’t see anything but a high ceiling and some weathered stone that reminds him of a building near his high school. When he wakes he feels more unsettled than he ever has when waking from jolting out of a fall.

Daniel handwrites Max a letter for his birthday, and leaves it for him to find in his driver’s room along with a bottle of alcohol that says “Thai Girl” in huge gold letters.

The letter itself is two pages long, slightly messy, and entirely sincere. It looks like it was written on team branded stationery. It’s far and away the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for him.

 _“Maximus,”_ the letter starts. “ _You truly are amazing.”_

Daniel’s writing is in turns bunched up and slung out across the unlined page, like Daniel was speeding up and slowing down, downshifting into the corners of his message. It’s legible, but Max reads every sentence twice anyways.

It’s an apology as much as it is a birthday greeting.

 _“I’m not sorry for leaving,”_ he writes, “ _but I am sorry for the way it’s made us fight.”_

Max is better at holding a grudge than is probably good for him, but he reads Daniel's words and he's already forgiven him.

The second page reads,

_“I feel incredibly lucky to be your teammate. Especially right now, at this stage in your career. To watch you grow thus far has been a privilege. You challenge me in all the best and funnest ways, and I can’t even tell you how much I’m going to miss that next year. But I feel even luckier to be your friend. You bring all sorts of joy and sillyness into my life and you even laugh at my terrible jokes. I don’t expect we’ll lose that any time soon._

_“Here’s to many more years of competition, and here’s to you, you crazy bastard._

_“Happy birthday, Max_

_“P.S. I saw this at the market and immediately thought of you. That, and it was the most expensive thing on the shelf. I have no idea what it tastes like.”_

There’s a sloppy smiley face at the bottom.

He doesn’t know how you thank someone for something like this.

“ _where tf did this stationery come from?_ ” he texts Daniel. He flips the paper back over just to look at the letterhead again. “Aston Martin Red Bull Racing”, color printed logo and everything. He’s never seen a paper document in a racing garage in his life.

“ _christian’s office printer :P_ ”, Daniel sends back shortly.

Max laughs quietly to himself. He’s oddly touched, thinking of Daniel asking Christian’s secretary for paper and an envelope last time they were at the factory or something. And oh God, Daniel probably knows the secretary’s name and everything. He sniffs, and simply responds, “ _thanks_ ”.

\---

Halfway between the announcement of his move to Renault and the end of the season, Max sleeps over in Daniel's bed, curls close to him and whispers "I'm gonna miss you," and it punches Daniel in the chest, how young Max sounds. 

And he understands. He gets it, why Max has been like this since he'd told him back in August. He makes sure to start saying “It’s not like I’m retiring,” and “I’ll still be in the paddock, you won’t have the space to miss me” to anyone who will listen. He hopes this isn’t Max’s weird roundabout way of breaking things off between them, and for the first time since this whole thing started, he wishes one of them knew what the fuck they were doing.

\---

Daniel keeps talking and Max wishes he would stop but if he interrupts he knows he’ll start yelling. He doesn’t want to shout at Daniel. But Daniel’s mouth moves, and his laugh lines appear and disappear with the wrinkles in his forehead, and he’s talking about fucking— 

“—still got some promotional stuff I’ve been putting off, though, I guess—” and, “—at the end of September, so—” and, “—goat yoga—” and, and...

And he can hear the end credits music fading in, and it’s such _fucking bullshit_ , because this isn’t the end, it’s just not. 

When he gets home, he climbs onto his bed, curls up in the corner against the wall and hugs his pillow. He starts to think about how he doesn’t even remember the last time he cried. He didn’t cry when he broke his finger back in karting. He didn’t cry at either of his grandfather’s funerals. He didn’t cry when he left home. He lets himself, though, today. 

Max cries for half an hour, painful sobs that shake his arms and legs. He stops when his stomach starts to hurt. He grimaces at the state his pillow is in, strips the pillowcase and throws it on the floor to be washed, and starfishes out across his bed, exhausted. 

He sleeps.

When he wakes up, the sun has mostly set and he feels like a zombie. He makes himself dinner and texts Victoria that he’ll call in the morning, then goes right back to bed.

In the morning after he gets up to piss he stares at his reflection in the mirror for ten minutes, just standing there. He stares for so long he doesn’t recognize himself. Eventually, he does what he came into the bathroom to do and takes the world’s longest, hottest shower. He feels amazing afterwards. His eyes are puffy but he feels well-rested, and he knows himself when he wipes the steam off the mirror.

After breakfast, he does the dishes and calls his sister.

The stretch through the US and Mexico is somehow worse than everything else that’s happened already this season. Well, personally it’s the worst. Professionally, Max is flying high and Daniel is punching doors and scaring the proverbial children. They go back to not talking and it’s like summer break all over again.

Max doesn’t know how to make Daniel feel better, and when he asks if there’s anything he can do, Daniel tells him he has to go get his hand checked out because he thinks he may have broken it when he put his fist through the door to his driver’s room.

Max goes out with his mechanics in Austin because Daniel’s having a shit weekend and it’s been a while since he hung out with the guys away from the track. He buys the whole team drinks and has fun for a few hours before they’re all shipping off across the border.

In Mexico Daniel beats Max to pole by a fraction of a second, and then Max’s dad has to go and run his mouth to the press after Max vents his frustrations in his own private driver’s room, behind closed doors, where it’s supposed to be safe to be a little angry sometimes.

So when Daniel’s car fails again on Sunday and Max wins, they reach a boiling point.

Max goes over to Daniel’s room, which probably makes this particular argument his fault, since he knew exactly what he was doing when he grabbed the second room key off his dresser this evening.

“I don’t want you to resent me for winning,” he says plainly.

“And I don’t want you to resent me for bringing you down when you should be celebrating,” Daniel pushes back.

They have this argument all the time but there’s more weight behind it tonight.

Max feels himself react physically to Daniel’s tone, primed to de-escalate things like he always does. He knows he tends to shut down in the face of another's anger, but this, he knows, is worth fighting through that. He has to get through to Daniel, and that means showing his hand first.

“I’m going home tomorrow,” he says, “and I wanted to spend some time with you before I left.”

“I’m going to LA,” Daniel says.

“I know.”

“Max, I’m having a shit month. My fucking car’s cursed, and Helmut can’t wait to get rid of me.”

“And I’m doing so well,” Max adds.

Daniel smirks. “And you’re doing so fucking well,” he agrees.

“You don’t have to celebrate with me. I didn’t come to rub it in your face or whatever my dad thinks I’m doing, we can just be together.” Max’s voice cracks, which is stupid.

“It’s so hard to keep this separate from the track,” Daniel says quietly, looking down at his hands. “I’m so tired, mate. There’s a whole ‘nother month to this season, can you believe that shit?”

Max sighs. “I know.” He flops back onto the bed when Daniel lays down and they lie in silence for a few minutes. Max wants to touch Daniel but this is all he’d asked for. Just being in the same space, together. Daniel might just snap if anyone touched him right now.

“I think we should sleep separately tonight,” Daniel says, with the inflection of a question.

Max knows he’s right, and hates it. “Yeah,” he says, and stands to leave.

On the plane home, Max sends Victoria five hundred dollars of his race win bonus with the memo “ _buy yourself something nice. see you soon loser_ ”, and slides his headphones on so he can ignore anyone that tries to talk to him.

\---

Daniel and Max do meet up after Brazil. Max is absolutely furious, and for once there’s no one pointing the finger in his direction. Daniel finds him in his hotel room shortly after he showers.

“Are you drunk?” he asks eventually, after small talk fails them spectacularly. “Didn’t see your champagne make it back to the garage.”

“No,” says Max simply. “Seemed like a bad idea.”

Max is pacing at the foot of the bed and he has a look in his eyes that makes Daniel think he’s still traveling at 200 kph, in some form or another. Like, he’s still here, but he’s not settled. He’s still waiting for the next thing to happen, anticipating, instead of paying attention to what he’s doing.

“You,” Daniel says to him, catching his arm to halt his progress rather abruptly, “need to slow down.”

Max looks at him sharply and Daniel tries not to feel like he’s calming a spooked horse.

“You’re shaking, babe,” Daniel says softly, once he gets close enough to Max that he notices.

He takes Max’s hands and puts them on his own body. Max looks like he needs to be reminded that he has a gentle touch, that he’s capable of loving with his hands and not just striking out. That he’s been the one to talk Daniel down from his own anger for the past six weeks.

Max lets out a shaky exhale and bends towards Daniel’s body, curling into his embrace and folding in on himself.

“You’re okay. Come here. You’re okay.”

They sway together in the quiet of Max’s bedroom, and Daniel lets Max breathe without trying to pull him out of his head.

“We’ve both had shit luck lately,” Daniel says much later, when they’re lying in bed with the lights out. “And it’s not fair.”

“Right,” Max says.

They’re lying on their sides facing one another.

“Thanks for staying,” says Max.

Daniel reaches over and squeezes his hand once, and then they fall asleep.

\---

They fuck Sunday night after the race in Abu Dhabi. It’s not the first time they’ve done it, and framing it that way doesn’t really do justice to all that happened leading up to that evening.

They both placed relatively well, satisfied with their races. The end of the season is always a bit bittersweet, but more so this year now that they won’t be teammates anymore.

They congratulate each other as coworkers in the garage and during the final debrief with their engineers that Max knows for a fact they both zoned out during. Daniel smiles at him and claps him on the back just like everyone else, then they go their separate ways, but Max doesn’t wait very long once he’s back at the hotel before he’s heading to Daniel’s room like always. They usually hang out and decompress after races. It doesn’t always include getting each other off, but sometimes it does.

Tonight, despite the well-earned double points finish, they get snippy with each other, alternating short clipped small talk with long stretches of silence watching whatever program Dan had on TV when Max walked in, until Daniel pushes Max back onto the bed and climbs into his lap.

It’s not break up sex, what they’re doing, but Max bites at Daniel’s mouth a bit more than usual, Daniel grips his arms a bit tighter, and Max’s thrusts are harder than they normally are.

They barely talk at all while they’re fucking, which is what really feels off. Usually Daniel is cracking jokes, and Max likes to tease him, and they mouth off while they mess around, but tonight they’re both very serious. Max holds eye contact with Daniel until he can’t bear it anymore and buries his face in Daniel’s neck, tries to see if he can leave a mark where no one will notice.

Max is always noisy when he comes, but tonight it sounds louder than normal to his own ears, and he can hear Daniel breathing from across the suite while he’s washing up in the sink. He comes back to find Daniel watching him as he climbs onto the bed, dragging the duvet with him.

“This wasn’t our last time, right?” Daniel asks. His voice is confident but his eyes are wide, and it throws Max for a loop. He’s been carrying the same question for weeks now, trying to figure out when to ask it, and he deflates in relief knowing that Daniel is right there with him.

“No,” Max says quickly. He tucks himself in next to Daniel and tries to sound more sure, speak it into existence. “No.”

He kisses the center of Daniel’s chest, and Daniel tightens his arm around him. “You gonna stay?”

Max nods and traces his thumb over Daniel’s right pec. “I’m gonna stay.”

\---

No matter how many times Daniel makes the flight down to Oz, it still feels much longer than it should.

He goes straight to his bedroom when he gets home and finally takes his shoes off. He smells like about eight different airport bathrooms, his contacts are too dry in his eyes, his face feels uncomfortably tight, and he can still feel the sex he had with Max twenty hours ago when he sits down on the bed. Suddenly he feels very tired, and he lays back and closes his eyes without turning the lights off. 

When he opens them again, he feels no more rested, but it’s a sensible hour so he gets up anyway. He groans when he stands to pee and peel his contacts out of his eyes, then walks back down the hallway to the kitchen.

There’s a Tupperware of coffee cake waiting for him on the counter. _Thanks, Mom_ , he thinks, and is content for the first time since he got home.

\---

Max goes home for the holidays, staying at his sister’s apartment instead of with his parents.

They eat dinner at their father’s house a few times, spending Christmas Day with his family.

Victoria keeps asking him who he’s texting, smirking at him like a know-it-all when he checks his phone at the dinner table.

“Stop that,” he tells her. “You’re being annoying.”

“What?” Victoria asks with her mouth full of potato salad. Jos’s wife glances at her disapprovingly.

Victoria starts chugging from her glass of milk and smiles at Max winningly.

“Ugh,” says Max.

“Children, please,” says their father, and they drop it.

After Christmas, Max hangs around with Victoria and her boyfriend, generally being a nuisance, visiting their mom and in Victoria’s case, counting the days until Max heads back to Monaco for New Year’s.

One night Victoria catches him distracted on his phone again and starts teasing him like she always does.

“Come on,” Victoria wheedles, “At least let me know who she is. It’d be nice to have another friend in the paddock for when you invite me along and then ignore me for three days straight.”

Max scowls at her and she grins.

“Well?”

He knows there’s no real reason he’d be keeping this from her if it was a girl he was texting. He takes a deep breath and doesn’t let himself overthink it.

“It’s Daniel,” he says. “We’re... we are...” They aren’t, really, but Victoria’s not asking for semantics.

Max had tried. When they’d started this, they’d been friends, and he wants to stay friends. He does. So they’re friends, and they fuck, and they both have every single field filled out in each other’s contact card. Full name, email, mobile phone, work phone, address one, address two, address three. Nickname. Birthday.

“Oh,” Victoria says quietly. Max can tell by the face she’s making that she’s trying to figure out what to say next. “Okay, well.”

He knows she loves him but he feels like he’s going to throw up. “I just... I wanted to tell you. Because we don’t lie to each other,” he says, still looking resolutely into his wine glass. 

It’s a pact they made a long time ago when they were still kids. They stick together. And they don’t lie, not about important stuff. Once, Victoria lied to him about whether she was dating this guy Max hated, and Max in turn stopped telling her anything about the girls he was dating once he turned sixteen, but they’ve always been close.

Max has never kept anything this big from her.

He’s never come out to anyone. His best friends know he likes guys, but that’s mostly because they’ve been around since he was still figuring it out himself. They never talked to him about it, but clearly it’s a non-issue since they still hang around with him. Max hopes so, at least.

“And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you... sooner, I guess,” he continues. He’s not talking about Daniel, this time.

Victoria surprises him when she sets her glass down and comes around the table to put her arms around him. 

They don’t do this, but they’re bad at telling each other they love each other. This is as close as they get.

Max lets out a breath and he’s ashamed at how shaky it sounds. For someone who trusts his sister with his life, he’s not showing it particularly well. But Victoria doesn’t say anything, and they sit there together for a minute, both of them on the same side of her dining table.

“Okay,” Victoria whispers eventually. “Do you want more wine?”

Max blinks up at her. “I hate wine,” he says stubbornly.

“I know,” Victoria says and goes to grab the bottle anyway. “But you came to my house and in this house I drink what I like.”

She pours him a glass that is more than half full, and Max makes a face. It’s _mango_ wine. It’s _sparkling_.

“Cheers,” she says to him, with her own full glass raised. After taking a big gulp, she says, “I like him, you know.”

Max does know. Daniel and Victoria are a frightening combination. He can’t say no to either of them, a fact which they exploit ruthlessly whenever they are in the same room. “Thanks,” he says lamely. “I do, too.” He doesn’t know how to talk about it. He’s never talked about it with anyone before.

“I won't tell Dad. Or Mom, or- I won’t tell,” she says, fidgeting with her glass.

“I know,” Max reassures them both. “Of course.” And he loves her so much, his little sister. He loves her so fiercely, but he physically cannot say anything more. He squeezes her hand instead, and knows she’ll understand. She speaks his language. She doesn’t need his words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew! we made it to the end of their tenure as teammates :'(  
> if you comment i'll love you to the moon and back. a sincere thank you to everyone who already has! they keep me super motivated <3
> 
> [i know this chapter is a leetle harder than the previous two so click here for serotonin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4OZrYzzB28Q) :)
> 
> Somnophilia warning: there is a scene where one character gives the other a blowjob to wake them up. there is no prior discussion of consent on-screen, but the blowjob is consensual from the moment they are both awake & there are no feelings of discomfort for either person.


	4. 2019: something fane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Max makes a friend and Daniel gets a wake-up call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from [here](https://genius.com/Bon-iver-perth-lyrics)

Daniel opens up Duolingo on his phone and scowls at the little French owl. French Duo is so much meaner than Italian Duo, champagne tracksuit notwithstanding. The app recites a phrase at him and gives him four potential four-letter spellings with completely different meanings. _Fuck the French language and everything it stands for_ , he thinks, and then guesses the wrong answer.

\---

When Max gets his new helmet for 2019, his father curls his lip at it. Max ignores him. 

Victoria tells him that it's hideous, and then in the next breath asks if he's sure it doesn't need more glitter? Max grins, delighted. 

His mother likes it, but is disappointed there isn't more orange. Max rolls his eyes. You can't please everybody.

Pierre cackles when he sees it, and Max just flips him off.

The first pictures of Daniel in his Renault gear are released, and Max adds a bee emoji to Daniel’s contact name.

“Honey bee?” Victoria asks him when the contact name shows up under his WhatsApp notification. 

“Shut up,” Max grumbles halfheartedly.

Completely by chance, they fly into Barcelona on the same day at the same time.

Max happens to look up from his phone as he leaves his gate and enters the airport proper, and he sees a man across the walkway wearing a cap, a hoodie, and sunglasses. He’s also wearing dark jeans and Vans, and just like Max always does when he spots someone in public wearing that particular outfit, he thinks of Daniel.

It isn’t until the man pulls his headphones to the side and stops to check the arrivals board that he realizes it actually is Daniel.

Daniel’s here, standing ten meters away from him; oversized tie-dye hoodie, Gucci backpack, and all. Max is moving before he consciously makes the decision.

As soon as he’s within a couple steps of him, Daniel turns and catches sight of him, and his face absolutely lights up under his shades. Max tries not to let it go to his head.

“No way,” Daniel says brilliantly.

“Hey,” Max manages, bowled over. “Come with me,” he urges, and all but drags Daniel to the nearest bathroom. 

He bullies Daniel into a handicap stall at the far end. They're lucky there’s no one else in here, because if he doesn’t get his mouth on Daniel soon he’ll do something drastic.

Thankfully, Daniel gets with the program and manages to kick their luggage out of the way before Max is on him, a tight grip with his left arm around Daniel’s back and his right hand cradling his head so it doesn’t smash into the wall. He brings their faces together and when Daniel’s mouth opens immediately under his he doesn’t hesitate to push his tongue out to meet Daniel’s.

Daniel grunts when his back hits the wall, but then he sags against it, letting Max’s body pin him there and sliding a hand into Max’s back pocket to pull him closer by the ass.

Their bodies slot together and Daniel’s still a little dreamy around the edges from his nap on the plane, body slack and loose limbed, making him an inch or two shorter than Max. Max uses that to his full advantage, kissing him for all he’s worth until he runs out of breath, until the rush has passed and the bridge of his nose aches.

Max pulls back then, takes Daniel’s face in his hands and they kiss lightly, short presses of their lips against each other. Daniel kisses him over and over, and then Max buries his face in Daniel’s shoulder, suddenly overcome by the force of his emotions. He wasn’t expecting to feel this. He certainly wasn’t expecting to show it.

Daniel brings a hand up to his face and strokes at his cheek while Max tries to catch his breath.

“Hey,” he soothes. “Hey, hey. I missed you, too.”

Max pants against his neck. He slackens his death grip on Daniel’s hoodie and lets his hands rest on Daniel’s waist.

“Missed you,” Daniel whispers, and Max sighs, refusing to lift his head from the tiled wall behind Daniel. He lets Daniel scratch his nails through the prickly hair at the back of his head. He breathes in and smells the airplane cabin and all the little things that make up Daniel through the fibers of his sweatshirt.

“Sorry for, like, attacking you,” he murmurs.

Daniel chuffs. “‘S alright.” He slides his hand out of Max’s pocket and untangles their upper bodies. “We can share a cab to the hotel, yeah?” he asks, then screws his face up.

“What?” Max asks.

“Nah, just- Are we even staying at the same hotel anymore?”

“Oh,” Max says, realization hitting him as well. “Well, if not, we’re probably not going to need two rooms anyway.”

Daniel snickers. “Feeling lucky, are we?”

Max bumps against him gently. “Shut up. I’m being realistic,” he grumbles.

He kicks at Daniel’s shoe and leads them back out of the bathroom.

“And we’re staying in my room, since they probably set you up in a Best Western,” he adds.

Daniel just smiles and follows him into the cab.

\---

Daniel rolls over and bites Max’s shoulder, because there’s no one here except Max to see him do it.

“You’re terrible at cuddling,” he says softly into Max’s bicep.

Max pinches his side and Daniel would be tempted to start a slap fight if he hadn’t just had a very pleasant orgasm.

“I mean it. You’re all bony.” He snorts at his own double entendre.

“Shut up,” Max says. “I’m sleeping.” 

But his actions belie his words as he pulls Daniel closer and arranges the blanket up and around Daniel’s shoulder.

Daniel hums a couple bars of the Sleeping Beauty waltz and they doze off like that, pressed together. A while later Max does manage to roll over and turn off the light before they both fall back to sleep on their own sides of the bed.

Daniel’s at dinner with Michael when Max texts him that he’s done at the track.

“ _we netflix n chillin?_ ” Daniel texts back.

“ _jfc_ ”, Max says, and Daniel pictures him rolling his eyes.

Daniel taps the phone against his palm, waiting for Max’s next reply.

Max doesn’t disappoint. “ _yea_ ”, he says, and Daniel grins.

He pays the dinner bill while Michael is in the bathroom and then drives him back to the hotel.

“Au revoir, mademoiselle!” he calls and Michael laughs, clambers out of Daniel’s new little Megane and disappears into the hotel without so much as a finger flipped in his direction.

He gets turned around in the parking lot but manages to make it to the Red Bull team hotel in less than fifteen minutes, and he’s humming contentedly to himself as he waves his—Max’s—room key at the receptionist. The man smiles back and Daniel continues to the elevator bank.

Last night they’d been watching TV and Max had stuck his hand in Daniel’s pocket, given him a handjob right through his sweatpants. For an orgasm that was technically just him jizzing in his pants, he doesn’t think he’ll be forgetting it any time soon.

They clearly aren’t going to have another lazy night of handjobs on the sofa, though, because as soon as he’s in the door, Max is up and off the bed and advancing on him with keen eyes and a quirk to his mouth that says, _you took your time getting here_.

Daniel feels a thrill run through his body and only manages to kick his shoes off before Max is on him.

\---

Daniel fucking growls when Max gets him pushed up against the wall, a sound that comes from the very center of his chest, and Max stills for a half second, an involuntary reaction from his hindbrain. Then, _Yes_ , he thinks, and sets his teeth against the very top of Daniel's trapezius, ready to sink them into his neck. A threat, and a reminder that he holds the upper hand.

Daniel's hips shift against him and this time the noise that escapes from his chest is a plea. A submission.

Max pins him flush against the wall, touching him with every part of his body he can, with his teeth still bared against Daniel's throat. His breath comes harsh through his mouth, wetting Daniel's skin, and he feels Daniel's muscles strain beneath him.

Max smiles and lifts his head. He and Daniel are almost exactly the same height, although Max might have an inch on him now. Daniel smiles, too, but it's less of a show of teeth and more genuine pleasure.

"I want you to suck me," Max says. His voice is steady but they're still grinding against one another, hands on hip bones, hands on glutes, chest to chest, legs offset.

Daniel speaks, fervent consent, and his voice sounds beautiful. Max can't wait to hear how he sounds after.

And this is his favorite part, when the smile drops off Daniel's face and he takes Max into his mouth like it's something that demands to be taken seriously. Max will never get tired of the way Daniel looks at him in these moments; so controlled. He's gotten good at what Max likes in a way no one ever has before him.

"Daniel," Max breathes, and Daniel's eyes crinkle around the edges. He pulls off and clears his throat, jacking Max slowly with his left hand.

"Want me to get you off like this?" Daniel asks, and yep, there it is. His goddamn voice.

Max exhales raggedly and nods.

Once he comes, Daniel stands and leans into him while Max gets him off quickly, spilling all over Max’s t-shirt.

“Fuck,” Daniel groans. “Ugh, you’re gross.”

“Bold words coming from a man who’s just swallowed my come.”

“Spitters are quitters, Maxy,” says Daniel.

“I can’t believe you,” says Max. “That’s disgusting.”

They finally strip their clothes off, and Max finds a couple clean pairs of boxers before they fall into bed and chill together, messing around on their phones, occasionally showing each other something funny and talking shit about mutual friends until it’s time to sleep.

They’re in Monaco and it’s a lazy Tuesday, they’re not planning to leave Daniel’s apartment unless they absolutely have to. They’ve ordered in brunch and Daniel is doing his stretches on the living room floor because Michael has been getting on his ass about never doing them while Max eats off the coffee table.

“You should do neon for your merch next time,” Max says to Daniel, picking a strawberry out of the container.

“Oooh,” says Daniel, clearly already envisioning huge lemon and orange tees or tie-dye tube socks or something.

“Okay, maybe not,” Max backtracks quickly.

“No, no,” Daniel insists. “That’s a great idea. I love it.” 

He’s writing it in his notes app. 

"Wanna go out for dinner today?” he asks. “There's that new place where Puri's used to be."

Max grunts from the sofa. He's wearing boxers and yesterday's shirt and he hasn't showered yet this morning. 

He’s started sleeping in oversized shirts. He refuses to admit that it’s because he likes wearing Daniel’s clothes. 

"Don't they deliver?" he asks, not bothering to pick up his own phone and check.

He hears Daniel chuckle from the floor.

"Share with the class?" Max prompts, when Daniel doesn't respond.

"Max Verstappen: loves getting eaten out, hates going out to eat," Daniel says, easing out of a hamstring stretch.

"Oh my God," Max groans. "You're so dumb."

Max complains a lot, but Daniel takes it well. They both know he doesn’t mean it. 

Max has pretty much been living in Daniel’s apartment whenever they’re back home these days with how often he’s been sleeping over, and it’s easier than he’d expected to share a living space. They’re good at leaving each other alone when they need time, and it helps that Max has his own apartment he can retreat to if he needs.

They spend time in Max’s apartment as well, but less often. Mostly it’s only if Daniel can’t get a hold of him and has to come knock on Max’s door only to find him engrossed in a FIFA match.

Sometimes Max plays and Daniel just sits next to him and kisses his neck, trying but not really trying to be a distraction. It’s nice.

“Have I already told you you have the worst beard I’ve ever seen?” Daniel says, stealing a bite of Max’s food right out of his hand.

“Fuck you,” Max says, and grabs a grape to throw at Daniel’s head.

Max still catches himself wondering if they’re getting tired of each other, if the novelty has worn off, but they still swap room keys most race weekends, and Daniel is eating fruit out of Max’s palm, so maybe he should stop worrying.

After they finish eating, Max has to answer a few emails so he borrows Daniel’s laptop and Daniel stretches himself out on the couch with his feet in Max’s lap to take a nap, giving Max the opportunity to watch Daniel’s face as he dozes, and the knuckles and knobs of his hands as they rise and fall with his ribs. 

When he’s done Max rests his head back against the couch and lets himself drift for a while, noting the progression of light on the wall as the sun hits its peak, and once it’s flooding the balcony enough that morning is decidedly over he kisses Daniel awake and they get up to put away the leftovers.

“You melted your wheel off?” Max exclaims. “Mate! How did you manage to do that?”

“I don’t even know!” Lando cries. “I thought it was a puncture but I must’ve overheated the brakes or something.”

Max watches on, amused, as Lando faceplants into his bed.

“The racing gods hate me,” he moans into the mattress.

"Nah, mate, you just have shit luck." Max kicks at his feet and Lando squawks. "Move over.”

“The only thing that can make it better,” Lando says solemnly, clambering back to his feet, “is letting me kick your ass at Smash Bros.”

“Now you’re talking,” says Max.

They’d been talking about getting together to hang out since the beginning of the season, the young kids banding together and all that, but it’s taken them until June to actually do it. Max is pleasantly surprised to discover that he likes Lando when he’s not apologizing for his own existence, even though he still makes Max feel a little bit old. He reminds him so much of himself in his first year at Toro Rosso, and Max resolves to help him out off track when he can.

Lando is also appalling at Smash Bros. Max isn’t much better himself, but they have fun anyways.

Much later, entirely too late to stay up if they want to get enough sleep before their flights in the morning, and after hours of hysterical laughter, Max finally gets up to say his farewells.

“No, yeah, of course! Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you up,” Lando says, mouth still moving at a mile a minute.

Max brushes him off. “It’s fine. I’m glad we did this.” Lando gets up to see him out.

“Me too, this was fun. We should be friends,” Lando declares, rubbing at his eyes and stifling a yawn.

Max laughs quietly. “Yeah, okay. You’ve got my number already, I think we’re there,” he says smiling.

“Nice!” Lando cheers quietly to himself. “Good night, then. I guess I’ll see you in a couple weeks.”

Max can’t resist ribbing him a bit more before he goes. “Well, maybe you won’t. I might be too far ahead of you,” he says, faking a frown. Immediately he has to raise his hands to defend himself from an onslaught of Lando’s various limbs.

“Hey!” Lando splutters. “You jerk!”

“Good night, Lando,” Max says, smiling.

“Good _night_ ,” Lando says, and pushes Max out into the hallway. “Bye. Get out of here.”

Max gets out of there. He feels happier than he has in a very long time.

\---

Max is absolutely on fire after his win in Austria. Daniel has a terrible weekend but that doesn’t stop them from meeting up in Monaco the day after. It just means they’re worked up for different reasons.

Max had wanted to give Daniel a blowjob on the balcony, and luckily Daniel was able to talk him out of it and all the way into the bedroom, but he makes the executive decision to let Max take the lead once they get there. 

Max shoves Daniel’s shorts down and runs his hands down Daniel’s legs. He looks up at Daniel and the intensity in his eyes makes Daniel bite his lip in anticipation.

Max kisses his way up the inside of Daniel’s leg like he’s tracing an inseam, pauses at the knee to resituate himself, and then continues up, licking at his tattoos. He bites down hard on the bruise-red flower, then the seal of the envelope, then the tip of the eagle’s wing. Daniel gasps.

 _At least_ , Daniel rationalizes, _if he leaves a mark too low for my shorts to cover, it’ll blend in with the red ink_.

“Yes, baby,” Daniel breathes. Max’s slick hand wraps around his dick and his teeth find a particularly sensitive area on his thigh. He jumps and then laughs in pain. “Oh, fuck yeah.”

Max laughs darkly and Daniel lets himself get lost in it.

They have sex again after dinner, and it’s just as intense, but it’s slower. It’s more mindful.

Max slides his body against Daniel’s and Daniel holds his gaze. He presses his forehead to Max’s and lets Max twine their fingers together.

When he feels Max shake apart above him he kisses him breathless and cradles his head against his chest.

He starts to pet Max’s hair but Max pulls away.

“Gonna clean up,” he says brusquely and disappears into Daniel’s ensuite.

Daniel’s head thumps back onto the mattress and he feels his brows draw in confusion. While they don’t usually have sex like this, sweet and slow, they almost always cuddle after. Even if they don’t have sex they tend to cuddle a little bit before bed.

Max comes back from the bathroom and Daniel reaches out for him when he sits next to him on the bed.

“Hey,” he says. “What’s going on?”

“What are we doing?” Max asks, immediate and emotionless.

Daniel is so taken aback by the shift in tone that he doesn’t even try to hide his confusion. “Mate,” he says. “What are you talking about?”

Max finally looks at him, and he doesn’t shake Daniel’s hands off but he seems a little more closed off than Daniel is used to. “I mean, this. What are we doing?”

Daniel stares back at him and raises a hand like, _you need to give me more than that to go on_.

“We’ve been sleeping together for three years,” he says. “I need to know what- what you think this is.”

 _Oh Maxy,_ Daniel thinks. _How long have you been carrying this around?_

“You’re one of my closest friends,” he says, because it’s true, “and I like having sex with you.”

Max nods but Daniel gets the sense that he’s given the wrong answer.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Daniel implores gently. _I can’t do this all on my own_.

Max sighs in frustration and scrubs his hands over his face, then gets up to pace between the window and the wardrobe. Daniel knows he’s having trouble coming up with the words so he waits him out. This probably isn’t the best time to be having this conversation but there’s no point in putting it off now.

“When was the last time you had sex with someone who was not me?”

Daniel looks Max in the face, sees determination, but he doesn’t know what Max is asking him for beyond what he’s already said. He’s daunted when he realizes he can’t remember the last person he hooked up with who wasn’t Max, let alone a time or place.

“2017?” he hazards.

“Alright,” Max says, and turns away, crossing his arms.

Daniel’s brow furrows. He’s missing something here that Max wants him to know but is refusing to tell him. “When was the last time for you?” he asks, figuring that’s a safe question at least.

Max shifts in front of the window and Daniel stares at the tendons in his ankles. “It was before I kissed you, the first time” he says finally. “Before... yeah.” Max turns towards him again. He’s backlit by the windows, and his face is in shadow so Daniel can’t see a thing in his expression to help him know what his next move should be.

Daniel doesn’t know what’s going on but somewhere along the line they’d stopped Just Fucking Around. He doesn’t know what they are, but it’s- well. Daniel is the only one who gets to touch Max now, apparently. Has been the only one since 2016, which is a bit of a mindfuck.

Daniel sighs, and stands. He takes Max’s hand and holds eye contact, bringing their faces close enough to see in the twilit apartment.

“I want you here,” he says, carefully deliberate. “Would you like to stay over?”

Max nods, but his face is still shuttered.

“What do you need from me?” Daniel asks.

Max slides a hand around Daniel’s hip and frowns. “Let’s go to bed,” is all he says.

Daniel counts to five, and since he doesn’t want an argument tonight, he just says “Alright,” and kisses Max for another count of five.

In the morning he wakes up before Max and slides his spare key into the pocket of Max’s sweatshirt by the front door, then sits on the counter while the coffee brews and tries not to feel completely out of his depth.

\---

Max isn’t oblivious. He knows what it means, that when he dreams of becoming world champion now, of standing on the podium celebrating with the crowd, Daniel is there too, telling him how proud he is of Max. He’s not stupid.

He is a coward, though.

Max calls his sister to freak out about making a move so many times that she starts sending him to voicemail.

He just—

He doesn’t think he could get the words out if he tried to tell Daniel any of it. He tries to practice saying it in his head, but all he can come up with is the way Daniel’s face lights up whenever Max does something particularly stupid, and the link Daniel sent him the other day to tell him which watch Victoria wanted for her birthday. How would he put that into words? “Fuck off”? “Thank you”?

After the chaos that is the German Grand Prix, the last thing Max expects is Daniel waiting for him in his hotel room like he hadn’t just experienced one of his most disappointing races of the season, and for his casual “What’s up” to be met with, “I think you should fuck me.”

“What?” Max feels like all the air has been punched out of his lungs.

“I prepped myself already,” Daniel continues matter-of-factly. “I had plenty of time before you got here.”

“Sorry I missed it,” Max rasps, shedding his jeans and climbing up the bed towards Daniel. “God.” He folds the curse into Daniel’s mouth as his head spins in wild unchecked circles. “God, yes, I want to fuck you.”

“Convenient,” Daniel quips, and Max shuts him up.

“You’ve been planning this,” Max accuses in the clear-headed aftermath of his orgasm.

“Well, yeah,” Daniel answers.

Max kisses his bare shoulder in thanks. 

It doesn’t necessarily mean more to him, to get to fuck Daniel, and anal certainly isn’t going to solve any of their bigger problems, but they don’t do it very often. So Daniel taking the time to surprise Max like this, in the middle of the season, after they’d failed spectacularly at communicating about their relationship a couple weeks ago? It feels like something special. 

“You good?” he asks.

“Mm-hmm,” Daniel reassures him. He arches his back off the bed and cracks his ankles. “So good.”

“Not to kill the mood, but... I’m sorry about your race,” Max says, tracing a finger over Daniel’s ribs.

“I hate this fucking car,” Daniel says, and Max keeps his big mouth shut. He could start an argument if he’s not careful, and as Daniel likes to remind him, “sometimes I just need you to listen.” Or if he’s pissed off, “I need you here but just, with less opinions, please.” And, well, if it gets Daniel to say “I need you”, Max can be quiet. He can hold his tongue.

He skates his hand back up to Daniel’s neck and turns his head to kiss him, first on the lips, then on his nose.

Daniel’s eyes flutter closed and Max settles in next to him, staying close.

“Pole, baby!” Daniel crows. “You know what that means.”

Max smiles. “Yeah, finally. Wait, what?”

“I’m gonna give you the best damn blowjob you’ve ever had in your life,” Daniel says, plowing ahead and reaching for Max’s hips already.

“You’ve already given me the best blowjob of my life,” Max says candidly, and then, “Don’t say hello to my dick.”

“Why not?” Daniel asks, sitting back on his haunches. “Not the first time I’ve done it.”

“It’s fucking weird,” Max grumbles as Daniel sits him down on the bed and gets him out of his shorts.

“You fucking like it when I do weird shit,” he retorts, and Max gives in and grabs a handful of Daniel’s hair.

“I really— fuck,” he says quietly, relishing the way Daniel gets straight to business with a warm hand on his dick.

“Come on, Max, you gonna be a good boy for me?” Daniel says, half joking.

Max gives up pretending that just about anything Daniel says wouldn’t do it for him, and nods. “You suck,” he gasps.

“Mmm, copy that,” says Daniel, and Max smacks him with one hand but lets out a moan when Daniel makes good on his word.

After Max comes, he fights through his languor to ask if Daniel’s close to coming, too.

“You should come on me,” he says, sinking into the bed. He’s fully naked from the ankles up and he flexes his stomach in emphasis.

Daniel crawls up over him to kiss him deeply, taking his time sucking on Max’s top lip and biting until it’s tender. “You’d like that?”

Max wraps his hands around the backs of Daniel’s thighs, urging him closer. “You could rub off on my abs.”

“I don’t know if I could come like that,” Daniel says, but he’s already grinding against Max.

“You should try,” Max says.

Daniel bites at his jaw. “Should I?” he asks. He’s boxing Max in against the bed, and usually they don’t do it like this, with Daniel on top and Max lying passive underneath him, but it’s fucking hot so he plays along.

He doesn’t want to say the sex has been better since they’re no longer teammates, the sex has always been good. But there’s something to be said about the way eliminating the element of direct competition between them has led to a practiced ease in winding each other up and pushing one another over the edge. There’s less anger in the bedroom, and more genuine laughter.

Daniel lies next to Max in the come-down, fully basking in the afterglow, and despite the fact that he almost certainly has pubes in his mouth he wouldn’t change a thing.

“My baby,” Daniel says one night in Belgium, and it’s a joke, Max knows it is. But.

“I like it when you call me that.”

Daniel lifts his head from Max’s neck and meets his eyes. “Baby,” he says again, carefully.

Max closes his eyes, feels a chaste kiss on his cheek and a heavy breath near his ear.

“Or ‘mine’?” Daniel asks in a low voice.

Max doesn’t answer, can’t, just kisses Daniel again. He gropes at Daniel’s semi through his shorts, because Daniel can’t articulate for shit when he’s turned on.

Max has been winning a lot of arguments lately.

Daniel finishes fourth in Monza and they order an extremely expensive case of wine to celebrate.

They drink a full bottle one evening when it finally arrives at Daniel’s apartment and Daniel seemingly makes it his mission to never let Max’s glass be empty.

Max tries to extend his arm away from Daniel’s pouring, and a good amount of it splatters onto the living room floor. Daniel laughs so hard Max worries he might have to rescue the bottle before Daniel drops the whole thing. His laugh is high pitched and breathy and Max misses hearing that laugh in the garage on a regular basis so much, but he knows he’s one of the few who gets to hear it like this, inebriated on the sofa and stripped of all pretense.

Max moves his feet away from the wine staining the rug and the floorboards.

 _I love you_ , he thinks. “Fucker,” he says.

It’s late when Max finally gets to the hotel in Sochi.

“Hey, babe,” Daniel murmurs, kissing Max hello. “How was your weekend?”

“Was good,” Max says, turning Daniel’s “hello” into more of an “I miss you and wouldn’t say no to a bit of necking”.

They do end up horizontal on the bed, with Daniel hooking his ankles over Max’s legs and cradling him against his body, kissing back slowly and with a lot of tongue. Max sucks on it gently and listens to Daniel sigh and hum beneath him.

Daniel’s hands skate over Max’s shoulders and Max starts rocking his hips slowly forwards. He tries to press farther into their kiss and ends up knocking their teeth together, pulling back in discomfort.

“Sorry,” he says, panting, while Daniel wipes at his mouth with one hand. Max does the same on his own shoulder. Daniel looks tired, all the little lines around his eyes just a little deeper than normal.

Max catches his breath, sliding a hand under the back of Daniel’s head and feeling the weight of his skull, the slide of his scalp over his palm. Daniel’s eyes flutter closed. Max circles his hips again and smiles when he can feel Daniel half hard against him.

“I’m gonna give you a blowjob and then we’re going to sleep,” he informs Daniel.

Daniel hums, and smiles. “That sounds nice.” He opens his eyes and his laugh lines crease up again. “This isn’t a pity suck, right?”

Max gives him an unimpressed look. “Mate.”

Daniel laughs at him. He stops laughing at once when Max gets his mouth on him.

True to his words, by the time Max makes it back from spitting in the sink and taking a piss Daniel is already snoring. Max slides into bed next to him and realizes he probably turned twenty-two with Daniel’s dick in his mouth. 

He smiles and falls asleep much more quickly than he anticipated. His tongue tastes like mouthwash, his skin is a little tacky under his shirt, and he’s got a warm body snoring in bed next to him.

 _Happy birthday to me_ , he thinks.

For all the days and nights they’ve spent together this season, they spend a lot less time together down the back stretch.

Daniel gets stripped of his sixth place finish in Suzuka and they don’t talk about it. Max would almost rather not know Daniel’s side of the story, he’d like to believe that Daniel didn’t have a choice, or that the FIA made a bullshit call, so when Daniel doesn’t bring it up Max doesn’t ask.

In Mexico, Max spends Sunday evening in Lando’s room again.

“The whole fucking team is ill, and I spent all race down two laps,” Lando kvetches.

“Mm-hmm,” Max agrees, not looking up from the phone in his lap.

“Ugh,” Lando continues to wail. “When will I get a freakin’ break?”

Max makes a sad face at him and pulls a candy bar out of his jacket pocket. He filched this one from the mechanics’ break room so Jake wouldn’t notice. “Do you want some chocolate?” he offers to Lando.

Lando pouts at him. “Yes,” he says, and snatches his half when Max hands it over.

“Alright,” Max says, wiping his hands on the duvet. “Did you bring your Switch?”

Lando sighs and finally flops back on the bed. “Of course I brought my Switch,” he grumbles.

The week between the US and Brazilian Grands Prix, Daniel spends a weekend in Las Vegas with Charles. Max doesn’t ask him about that either, but when they fly into Brazil and hook up the same evening, Daniel notices something’s off and calls him out on it.

“Wait, is this about me and Charles hanging out in Vegas? Mate,” Daniel says, disbelieving.

“Maybe,” Max says.

“Come on, Max, you know you’re still my favorite.”

Max tries not to visibly preen at that.

“I don’t get why you two hate each other so much,” Daniel says, and Max makes a face. He doesn’t really know either, but Charles seems set on continuing to hate each other and he’s certainly not going to be the first to break.

“We grew up racing each other,” he says. “It’s... ugh, I don’t know.”

Daniel sighs melodramatically, as is his wont. “Ah, of course. You were a boy, he was a boy. Can I make it any more obvious?”

Max knows that no matter what he says next, it’s guaranteed to make Daniel burst into song. “I hate that song,” he says flatly.

“He was a punk, she did ballet!” Daniel calls after him as he leaves the room. “What more can I say?!”

“You coming to my room later?” Daniel asks in the elevator on Sunday night.

“No, can’t. I’m hanging out with the kids. They insisted.”

“Aww. You’re a kid too, dumbass. It’s so cute that you all like each other, though.”

Max gives him a look.

“Please don’t kill Charles,” Daniel continues, unapologetic. “I like to look at him.”

“You are not helping your case.”

“Alright, alright,” Daniel relents as the elevator comes to a stop. “Tell Pierre congrats from me. Don’t let Lando get lost in a club somewhere. Make sure you’ve got a drinking buddy.”

Max grins at him in a way that suggests they’ll actually be pregaming this particular outing, thank you very much. “I will. Someone’s got to save Pierre from himself.” He steps out of the elevator on his floor. “See you in Abu Dhabi.”

“See ya,” Daniel singsongs, jabbing the close door button with his water bottle.

“Never have I ever passed out during sex,” George says with a little too much enthusiasm.

Max takes a shot. Someone squeals.

“Max!” Lando exclaims. He’s gone completely red.

Max smirks. “It was a really fucking good blowjob,” he elaborates, and there’s another round of jeers before Max refills his shot glass and yells, “Next!”

“Never have I ever had a crush on a teammate,” Lance says, and most of the room drinks.

Alex doesn’t but he calls Max out again. “Aww Max, you have a crush on me? That’s so embarrassing.”

Max flips him off.

“God, you’ve had like, the hottest teammates,” George sighs. “Meanwhile, Lance and I are stuck with the _shittiest_ cars and the _oldest_ teammates on the grid.”

Lance nods and fist bumps him solemnly.

Charles gets a wicked look in his eye and Max narrows his eyes in response. “Daniel, then?” He asks innocently, and several people snicker.

“Carlos,” Max says sweetly, because fuck him. It’s not even a lie.

“Twins!” Lando gasps, knocking his orange juice against Max’s cup, and then people are laughing at Lando instead of him. Max claps a hand on his thigh in thanks and Lando leans into his side, clingy even while sober.

“My turn,” Pierre states eagerly with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Never have I ever turned down a threesome with a swimsuit model.”

Charles curses him out in French and takes a shot, and the room erupts.

Max laughs along and watches Charles blush. Alex leans back and angles his arm just slightly behind Charles, watching Charles’ face steadily as he tries to ignore the clamoring questions from around the circle. If they were any closer, they’d be cuddling. 

And Alex thinks he’s the subtle one.

As much as Max and Charles cling to the rivalry between them, they’re the only ones who know how to party, and Charles brought the ingredients for peppermint patty shots, so for one night only they’re together in this. 

Charles hands him the schnapps and Max wants to laugh at how determined he is to keep Max at arm’s length, because he’s almost businesslike about it. Charles never texts Max on WhatsApp either, just keeps using Facebook messenger like they don’t already have each other’s number.

Everyone does a generous shot before leaving George’s room courtesy of business partners Charles and Max, Lando does a double shot of just straight chocolate sauce because he’s not drinking, and then they’re ready to go.

Max knows he missed out on a lot of the dumb partying his friends got up to when he started traveling to race seriously, but he imagines this is about exactly how it goes at college or university back home. Lance shushes George and Alex loudly on their way to the elevator and Max resigns himself to looking after the group.

Charles locks the door behind them and chuckles at the rest of the party, somehow already halfway down the hall and picking up speed, and catches Max’s eye. Max shakes his head.

“I know, right?” he says.

“They will feel like garbage tomorrow,” Charles returns.

“Except Lando.”

Charles laughs. “No, Lando will not. He will just have a, ah. Sugar crash?”

Max smiles, despite himself, and nods.

“He will have a sugar crash later tonight and someone will have to carry him back to his bed.”

Max snorts and then reminds himself that Charles just spent a week in Vegas with Daniel and he’s not supposed to have forgiven him for that yet.

“Baby so cold he from the north, he from the Canada,” Lando warbles as they pile into the elevator, trying to get Lance to carry him piggyback style.

Someone shushes him and then George shouts, “Wait, hold the elevator! Where are the wonder twins? We can’t have lost them already.”

“We’re right here,” Max says as they finally reach the doors. “Calm down.”

The evening becomes a blur of sidewalks, club lighting, and Pierre and Charles speaking French and then laughing obnoxiously high and loud in their booth. A couple times, Charles gets them all to pose for a selfie, and later in the evening he shows Max a Snapchat reply from Daniel. After that, Alex or Lando must forcibly remove them from each other’s presence because he doesn’t see much of Charles for the rest of the night.

\---

The weeks preceding and following Abu Dhabi go a lot more quickly than they did last year, for which Daniel is grateful.

The final race is a disappointing one, which Daniel isn’t too pleased about, but it’s something he’s been getting used to. He remembers this a little from his first few years at Red Bull, being in a car that is firmly in the “developing” stage rather than “competitive”. 

He heads home and crashes in his apartment for twenty eight hours and then spends some time with his sister and her kids out at their home in the suburbs.

“What’s up, little man?” He greets his nephew when he runs out into the driveway to meet him.

“Cash money, bitches!” he cries, and Daniel cackles all the way into the mudroom.

“ _You're asking me if I want to be exclusive via text??_ ” 

Daniel cannot believe it, he really can’t.

Max turns his read receipts on, which Daniel takes to mean, “ _duh_ ”.

Maybe he should’ve seen this coming after their talk earlier in the season, but. He hadn’t expected this from Max. 

Daniel takes a while to think about it. Takes the dogs for a long walk around the land. When he comes back in the house he makes himself a mojito with his mom's simple syrup and some mint from the garden. 

The thing is, if Max had asked him at any point while they were still teammates, he wouldn’t have thought twice before saying no. It’s one thing to hook up with your teenage coworker and something else entirely to agree to date them. The fact that he is even considering it right now scares him. He thinks and thinks and overthinks until his drink is watery at the top and sweating all over the oilcloth tablecloth. 

Max is a different person than he was even ten months ago at the start of the season. Daniel is a different person, too. He’s surprised to discover he no longer thinks of Max as profoundly more immature than he is. He knows Max would never have asked him for this if he wasn’t deadly serious. There are few people in the world who overthink personal decisions more than Max Verstappen. He spends hours picking out the right words for his mother’s birthday card. He can’t even hang up posters in his apartment without changing his mind twenty times.

Daniel sighs and unlocks his phone for the umpteenth time; it’s still open to Max’s WhatsApp thread. He imagines what it would be like to hold Max’s hand, or FaceTime him before bed in the offseason. It sounds nice. He imagines Max’s cheeks when he smiles and his pointy fucking elbows digging into the small of his back in the morning.

“ _Come meet my parents_ ”, he texts back. If they're doing this, they're doing it properly.

“ _ive already met yr parents_ ”, Max says.

“ _Come to oz, dickhead_ ”, Daniel replies, and Max says,

“ _okay_ ”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (why is there SO much maxpov in this chapter????)
> 
> also [come yell at me on tumblr](https://shoeydaniel.tumblr.com) about the never have I ever scene and the fact that lance has also DEFINITELy passed out during sex but he didn't drink during the game bc it was in the "he was blackout drunk and passed out in this poor girl's bed with no warning" way, so he doesn't remember


	5. 2020: sweet tea in the summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the general grievous of chapters.... (shorter than expected)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chap. what a ride this has been!
> 
> chapter title from [here](https://genius.com/Taylor-swift-seven-lyrics)

“Wanna get another tattoo?” Daniel asks as soon as they’ve settled at their table on the patio.

“Jesus Christ,” says Michelle, wiping the condensation off her beer bottle. “Why? It’s not like you need the excuse. If you want to get another one just do it.”

Daniel hums around a mouthful of guac. “But if I got something smaller? A constellation? Would you want a matching one?”

Michelle sighs at him but she’s smiling. “We’ve got matching ones already, dingus,” she says.

“Ugh,” Daniel stretches his legs out under the table and slouches down in his extremely uncomfortable wrought iron chair. “I don’t know what I want next. I just feel ready for a new one, you know?”

“Not really,” says Michelle.

Daniel ignores her and keeps going. “I thought I might get something for LA, but I’d want to get it done there. Manny always has good ideas when I see him. Agh. Maybe I should just wait.”

“Weren’t you going to get a gum tree? You ever do that?”

“Oh,” Daniel says, pleasantly surprised. It’s something he thought to do back when he got his first few tattoos and he wanted something to represent home. “Yeah, that’s good.”

The waitress comes soon after and Daniel has to scramble to decide what kind of salsa he wants, and he’s forgotten about his tattoo woes entirely by the time their menus are gone.

Michelle talks about her kids, and Daniel talks about feeling grateful for the break, and then Daniel bites the bullet and tells her he’s invited Max down to visit in a few weeks. If she doesn’t hear it from him, she’ll hear it from his parents, because his family are all terrible gossips.

“Wait,” says Michelle. “Isn’t his dad the one who’s, like, a psychopath?”

Daniel winces. “Yeah. To be fair, the few times I’ve interacted with him he seemed frighteningly normal.”

“You’re sure Max isn’t gonna hit you with his car or some shit,” Michelle deadpans.

“Oh my God, no, Max didn’t inherit his dad’s temper, he’s just really bad at dealing with conflict.”

Michelle hums. “Okay, just making sure. I know you can’t back down from a fight and I don’t want you to tear each other apart.”

“Hey!” Daniel says. “I know what I’m doing. Max and I are great at communicating.” Read: they fight, Max runs away, Daniel talks himself down, and then they have sex and order in greasy food for dinner.

“Mm-hmm,” Michelle says, and her arched eyebrow reminds him way too much of his mom.

Daniel looks away and tells himself conversating isn’t a sport you can lose. Michelle knows nothing.

He turns to set his beer down and almost spills it all over his lunch, startling to catch it before it goes. “Oh shit,” he curses, and Michelle cackles at him. “Fuck off. Jeepers.”

When Max arrives in Perth, Daniel picks him up at the airport and the only thing he can think when he sees him is how big his arms have gotten in the offseason.

He waits in the car for Max to spot him—no need to get a picture taken of them both in the Perth airport in January for no reason—and once Max is all loaded in, he tugs him into an embrace.

“You look good,” he tells Max.

Max buries his face in Daniel’s shoulder and sighs. “I feel like shit. Take me home.”

Daniel’s heart leaps in his chest and he can only nod and put the car in gear, pulling out of the terminal and downtown towards his apartment.

The only thing Daniel takes away from their short conversation during the commute is that Max hates intercontinental flights even more than he’d remembered and that Daniel also thinks Max’s voice is still dropping, because he sounds as good as he looks. He’s got massive bags under his eyes, likely from refusing to take melatonin on the flight and staying awake for the full forty hour journey, but he’s still the best thing Daniel’s seen all week.

They get home and he forces Max to drink some coffee to stave off the jet lag and then they settle in on the sofa. Before too long, their relaxing afternoon of TV turns into making out horizontally, cricket game forgotten in the background.

Max is on top of him now. Max, who flew out to Australia because Daniel asked him, and who is here because he wants to be. Max, who he’d like to keep close for as long as he possibly can, because he’s missed the feel of his mouth.

It’s been too long since he got to knock Max’s cap off his head. Too long since he got the chance to properly mess him up.

Daniel bites and Max bites back.

Daniel hardly ever leaves bruises but today he might have to.

Max makes a noise, high and helpless. They try to kiss and Daniel gets a mouthful of his eyebrow. He chuckles into their next kiss.

It’s been too long.

\---

When Max wakes up the first morning in Perth, he feels like he’s shed ten pounds overnight. He feels a lightness in his chest that reminds him of summers on vacation when he was a child. It feels like home, or at least like love.

Daniel rolls over him when he wakes up and pecks him on the lips.

“I don’t think I said this yet, but I do want you,” he says. His voice is rough with sleep and even though it’s not the first time Max has heard him like this, it still thrills him. “I want this.”

“Oh, good,” Max murmurs. “I don’t fly all the way around the world for just anyone, you know.”

Daniel smiles at him, and there’s sleep in the corners of his eyes. He kisses Max again and Max squeezes his eyes shut and luxuriates in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

“This is what you wanted all along isn’t it?” Daniel asks after a bit.

Max swallows and his throat clicks. “I... I don’t know how long. I have for a while, though.”

Daniel nods and cuddles closer, closing his eyes. There’s not really anything else to say. They’re finally on the same page.

They get up and eat breakfast and then brush their teeth and fall back into bed. Morning sex isn’t something they’ve ever really done before, there’s always been a plane to catch or a reason to leave. All the same, Max bets they’re going to be really good at it. He’s excited to find out.

By the time the sunlight has traveled from the wall to the floor, Daniel’s got him feeling like he’s been reduced to a nervous system and a pile of arms and legs. 

He’s never been lit up like this before.

“Come on, I wanna feel you. I want to see you over the edge. Show me how I make you feel,” Daniel gasps, and Max comes in time with the break in his voice.

It’s bliss.

And then it’s just the two of them again, bathed in the half-light of early afternoon and buck naked in the middle of a queen sized mattress.

He’s always liked this part about sex—the way it reminds him that they’re just people with bodies.

There’s always a moment in the come-down where everything is equal between them, like maybe everyone in the world is just pretending to know what they’re doing, and only in the afterglow do we actually admit it.

Daniel traces a shaky finger over his eyebrow and Max feels like maybe they understand each other after all. The shift between them is inescapable, and all they did was take off a couple layers of clothing.

“Hey,” Max says later, seeing his own message in Daniel’s notifications. “You changed my contact?”

Daniel looks up, processing. “Oh, yeah. The heart was cute, but it seemed a little obvious,” he says. “Sorry, mate.”

“No, it’s okay,” Max says. “Just, for a second I thought ‘mev’ was someone else.”

“Nah,” Daniel laughs. “There’s no someone else. You’re it.”

Max’s breath catches in his throat.

Daniel giggles again. “It’s you but incognito.”

Max pokes him in the side, breathing normally again. “How do you say such nice things but make them sound so dumb?” he marvels, and then when Daniel refuses to stop laughing, he tackles him onto the couch.

True to their word, they spend a weekend with Daniel’s parents, living in the guesthouse and tooling around on the farm. 

Daniel runs with the dogs in the mornings, they do a bit of manual labor around the house that Daniel’s parents are getting too old for, and Max saves more than one meal from being charred on the barbeque. Somehow, Daniel’s entire family is hopeless at grilling.

One day Daniel wakes Max up just after sunrise. He’s sweaty at the temples and his hands smell like tomato plants. He’s been in Grace’s garden.

“Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep,” Daniel says softly. “You gotta come see this.”

Max goes with only minimal complaining.

Getting out of bed ends up being worth it, though, because the farm at sunrise is a sight to behold.

The long grasses of the pen are covered in dew and sparkling, and as the water burns off in the sun it turns into a haze that floats several feet above the ground. Sunlight reaches through the spaces between the branches of the trees around the perimeter and draws glowing rays across the entire field.

Max’s feet get cold and his shins get wet but he sees the peaceful look on Daniel’s face and decides he can live with it.

\---

They go cliff jumping and sit on the rocks, and Daniel watches as Max’s hair dries from a dark sepia to a lighter shade of goldenrod.

They sleep in and rediscover how profoundly inflexible Daniel is.

They accidentally come out to Michael when he comes over one morning looking for Daniel and finds them making out in the kitchen.

Daniel tries not to gloat about Max missing out on winter in the northern hemisphere to come spend the summer with him but is mostly unsuccessful.

They argue, twice, but there’s enough space in Perth for them to walk it off. The make-up sex is, as always, well worth the wait.

\---

Daniel takes Max stargazing, driving out of town and into the nothingness of the bush, metropolitan Perth nothing but a smudge of light pollution to the West.

They take Daniel’s parents’ old ute because Daniel says it’ll be better to lay in the bed and look up from there. 

Max carries the pile of blankets Daniel hands him out to the truck and slides in on the passenger side. The upholstery inside smells like leather polish and faint cigarette smoke, and the blankets on his lap smell like old musty wool and cedar closets. The truck has a bench seat which means he gets to spread out towards Daniel, so Max luxuriates in the atmosphere and watches Daniel’s bony wrist on the gearshift as they clunk off the highway and into the outback. Daniel’s fingers are crooked and the small three on his pinky finger stands out even in the low light.

It feels like the beginning of something really, really good.

 _Duh,_ he thinks to himself. _That’s your boyfriend._

Daniel pulls up at some arbitrary spot along the road and drives a couple hundred meters away from the thoroughfare. He shuts off the truck and when the headlights turn off they’re plunged into blackness.

“Here we are,” Daniel says, his accent painfully Australian, and Max smiles in the sudden darkness.

After a minute to let their eyes adjust, Daniel micromanages him into spreading several blankets in the bed of the truck and piling a couple against the back of the cab as a headrest. They lie down next to each other with their feet pointed out the open tailgate and their eyes upturned.

It takes Max’s breath away. He’s never seen so many stars in his life. The sheer volume of white light blanketing the sky feels unreal, or like every other time he’s seen the stars has been a lie.

Daniel sighs beside him. “Yeah,” he whispers.

They lie in silence for long minutes, Max’s eyes darting from one horizon to the other, trying to take in every inch of the heavens. After a while Daniel starts pointing out constellations he sort of remembers from summer camps as a kid. The only one Max can confidently identify is the southern cross.

“The big one is over there,” Daniel says, gesturing to an entire half of the sky. “The emu in the sky. She’s Maori, but I don’t remember the mythos.”

“Where?” Max asks.

“By the southern cross, literally right next to it.”

“Mate, I don’t even know what an emu looks like,” Max says quietly. 

He’s never been soft. Never liked feeling soft. But he’s melting by the minute.

When Daniel tells him where to look, Max dutifully ducks his head to look down Daniel’s arm where he’s pointing out towards the sky.

“There’s a dark patch right up there,” he waggles his finger around and Max squints at it. “A nebula. That’s the head, and then,” Daniel sweeps his hand down like he’s caressing a dog, “that’s the body, and the legs.”

Max sees something, up near the head, and extrapolates in his mind’s eye. He’s not sure if it’s the right emu, but he can make one up in the right general area of the sky.

They lie in the cold bed of the ute for a long time, shoulder to shoulder, until finally Daniel starts shivering, and they start the old girl back up for the trip back into town.

Max stumbles into Daniel’s apartment after him. He’s sure it’s almost three or four in the morning. They fall into bed and he’s asleep in seconds, Daniel’s cold nose bumping against his bare shoulder.

\---

A few days before Max is set to leave, Daniel is watching him FaceTime his sister in the living room, slouched down on the sofa with one ankle crossed over the other knee. Max isn’t wearing a cap, he hasn’t since he got here except when they leave the house, and Daniel’s still getting used to it, but he loves it.

He takes in Max in all of his eccentricities, his arm hair, his knuckles, his eye teeth, his ankle, and thinks again, _I love that_ . And then, _Well fuck me. That's new_.

Daniel has known for a while in the back of his mind that Max means a lot to him, and he doesn’t believe that this love-with-a-capital-L is any different than how he’s already been loving Max, but it gives him pause. 

He wonders how he never noticed before, because of course it’s love. It’s been love for a long time now.

Daniel sees Max off at the airport, insisting on dropping him off himself, and kisses him right there in the dropoff lane. They’re still in the car, because he hasn’t completely lost his mind, but he just can’t help himself.

“I’ll see you in a month,” says Max, and Daniel waves as he disappears into the terminal.

He listens to sad music on the drive home and feels a little silly about it. Not enough to change playlists, though.

To say that the way the weekend of the Australian Grand Prix unfolds is unexpected would be a massive understatement.

Daniel calls Max in the midst of all the hubbub and team emails and Twitter threads, and asks what his plans are. McLaren pulls out while they’re on the phone and Max tells him he’s got to hang up because he wants to call Lando.

The next day the rest of the teams pull out of the race and it’s like the entire world has shut down overnight. Everyone is scrambling to get flights back to Europe while the airports are still open, and Daniel calls Max again once he’s secured a seat back to Perth to offer that he come live with Daniel until this all blows over.

“I can’t stay with you for quarantine,” Max says. “My simulator is back in Monaco.”

Daniel can’t help it, he starts laughing.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “this is all just so, so fucked.”

“I know,” Max chuckles. “I’d like to, but I think I should be at home.”

“You’re probably right,” Daniel agrees.

“Promise I’ll call?” Max says, and Daniel snorts.

“No you won’t,” he says. “But you better pick up when I call.”

Max laughs again. “Okay, yeah, I can do that.”

“Alright. Stay safe, Max.”

“You, too,” says Max, and then hangs up, because God forbid they show any more emotion than that.

Daniel smiles down at Max’s contact on his phone screen and shakes his head.

“ _miss you already_ ,” he texts Max, and heads to call a cab to the airport.

\---

Daniel FaceTimes Max one day when it’s way too early for his liking in Holland, but it’s afternoon in Perth.

“What’s crackalackin’,” Daniel greets, starting off strong, and Max closes his eyes and counts to fourteen slowly before he clears his throat and starts trying to deal with Daniel.

It’s sunny where Daniel is, he looks like he’s outside, walking somewhere but the angle is such that he can’t be sure if Daniel’s at home or not.

“Very little,” he grumbles, rolling over.

Daniel characteristically ignores his unenthusiastic response and grins into the camera, moving right along. “Guess what?”

“Tell me,” Max says, rolling over and stretching as he stands up, knowing he doesn’t have much of a say in the matter.

“I got an offer, from McLaren. I think I’m gonna sign with them.”

Max freezes. “No way. What?”

“Yeah,” Daniel confirms. “Wanna know the best part?”

“There’s a best part?” Max asks. It’s seven AM.

“They’re gonna have Mercedes PU’s next year.”

“Holy shit,” Max says. “Holy shit.”

“I know!” Daniel is practically vibrating.

“I’m happy for you.” Max knows Daniel hasn’t been all that impressed by Renault. They’d made him some big promises when he signed and they haven’t fulfilled many of them.

Daniel starts rambling on about how the deal isn’t finalized yet and he’ll have to switch this and that and send the contract to his lawyer, and Max goes about his morning routine.

“So, you’ll be McLaren’s number one fan next year, yeah?” Daniel asks once Max is at his kitchen table.

“What?” Max asks, a little distracted. He’s been half-listening to Daniel while checking his emails.

“You know,” Daniel finally stops moving, sitting on the green couch in the living room presumably, “Your two favorite people are driving for McLaren, and we’re already all decked out in your favorite color.”

“Orange isn’t my favorite color,” Max says immediately, and then when Daniel waves a hand dismissively, “And my two favorite people are Victoria and my mum.”

Daniel cackles at him, throwing his head back and letting his hair fall out of his face. Max suddenly misses him a whole lot more than he did a moment ago. It’s the little things that get to him.

“You’re a close third,” he mumbles.

Daniel gasps dramatically, cutting himself off. “Maxy! That’s so sweet.”

Max scowls at his phone. “Fourth. Your mom made me muffins when I was there, and all you do is laugh at me.”

Daniel’s face softens. “I miss you,” he says, and sighs.

Max smiles. “Yeah. I miss you, too. Three weeks.”

“Three weeks. Counting the days, mate.”

After they hang up so Max can finish his breakfast and Daniel can stop putting off his training session with Michael, Max opens his WhatsApp and texts Lando to let him know he’s giving his number to Daniel.

\---

“ _Hey mate_ ”, Daniel texts Lando a few weeks before the start of the season. He’s not entirely sure Lando can be trusted with a secret, but who is he gonna tell? Carlos?

“ _TEAM mate?? 👀👀_ ”, Lando responds, and Daniel laughs out loud. Yeah, this was gonna be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here’s the emu](https://www.abc.net.au/news/image/9776222-3x2-940x627.jpg) :)
> 
> and since it’s the last chapter [here’s my soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLLWagf-CJYYec1eS9Ne2h_w8Q35VSfhdx) lol we love a semi-ironic playlist
> 
> i want to say thank you first and foremost to the frog bitch support group & especially katie who was the First person to read any part of this. your excitement fuels me!! mwah! <3
> 
> thank you also to everyone who has commented so far :’) you’re all breathtaking. i can’t thank u enough for all your kind words.
> 
> [come say hi on tumblr](https://shoeydaniel.tumblr.com) if you too hate maxiel for everything they are
> 
> *leaves ao3 for another eighteen months* i’m getting out of this goddamn hellhole

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](https://shoeydaniel.tumblr.com)


End file.
